


The Grim Game

by SpaceVikingLoki



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Anxeit - Freeform, Character Development, Dark Sides, Deceit is a deceptive little shit, Domestic, Drama, Figuring out the mindscape, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulative Patton, Manipulative Relationship, Morally Ambiguous Deceit, Platonic LAMP - Freeform, Roceit - Freeform, Roman/Deceit - Freeform, Slow Burn, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Virgil has a dark past (surprise surprise), Virgil/Deceit - Freeform, Worldbuilding, analogical - Freeform, relationship building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18616846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceVikingLoki/pseuds/SpaceVikingLoki
Summary: “You have a room,” Virgil repeated, his voice feeling very far away as he stared at the unassuming door now wedged into the furthest wall down the hall.“Hey, take a deep breath,” Patton’s soft voice and hands rubbing along his back brought Virgil back to the present. He turned to see the other sides’ varying expressions of shock as they stood, taking in the household's new instalment.“He’s actually here,” whispered Roman. “Like here, here. As in -”“We have a new roommate,” stated Logan, matter-of-factly.





	1. In Which Deceit Builds A Room

**Author's Note:**

> I've loved the Sanders Sides for ages now, and wanted to try my hand at writing a story for these guys. Had a lot of musings about the last video, Selfishness vs. Selflessness, so I wanted to explore the aftermath of that. Also digging into that secret past Virgil seems to share with Deceit. This is 100% just my interpretation of how the Mindscape and the sides work, their origins and abilities, etc. - probably not accurate but I had fun playing with the concept. Hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

Deceit was aware of something solid beside him.

This was only strange in that he was, in this particular moment, in Thomas’s Mindscape. Not Thomas’s living room or a courtroom, or other intentional mind palace scenario in which he would expect to encounter solid things.

Had he been summoned somewhere? Unlikely. His company wasn’t exactly desired by Thomas or the others. The inky blackness he was used to still enveloped around him like a thick blanket, but it felt different now. Like he was inhabiting a space with borders and edges, rather than endless nothing. Reaching out a hand (he had a hand now, he noted), Deceit felt a hard, smooth surface to his right. He moved forward, following the surface until it met another, perpendicular surface. Following this, he encountered another, and then another, until it was clear that he was in a box.

 _Some light would help_ , he thought. His desire was granted as a single bulb appeared above him, casting his new surroundings in a warm glow. White walls encased him from all sides.

 _It’s a room_ , he realized. _Though not a very good one, as far as rooms go. It doesn’t even have any windows_. As if taking offence to this, the room immediately sprouted windows, overlooking a sunny, suburban street.

Deceit blinked in the new light. He was well used to summoning physical landscapes within Thomas’s mind, but that was only when Thomas himself was presently aware, for his benefit. But it was just Deceit now, alone. Pulling the strings which constantly connected them, he confirmed that Thomas was, in fact, asleep. _Odd._

Deceit tested another thought: _A proper room requires furniture, yes?_ The room obliged with a basic dresser, some shelves, a chair, and a desk. The expression Deceit made must have looked less than impressed, since the furniture then shuddered into more ornate shapes and colours - greens and yellows and some finely carved designs in the woodwork. Then, as almost an afterthought, it sprouted a mirror and a full shag rug.

 _I like that,_ he realized. Then scrunched his face, because that wasn’t supposed to matter. These manifestations weren’t usually _for_ him.

 _Well_ , he tested, _if it was for me, I wouldn’t mind a bit of foliage_ . A variety of plants sprouted from pots by the window, ivy winding up along the nearest wall and ceiling. Deceit smiled to himself. _And some art?_ Salvador Dali’s Persistence of Memory and M.C. Escher’s Relativity appeared on the wall with a pop. Deceit had to concede, that was a little impressive. _And… a bed? Perhaps?_ Not because he needed to sleep, technically, but because the room was looking more and more like a bedroom, it may as well have the basic functionality of one. A bed dutifully grew out of the floor.

Deceit looked around the freshly made room with his hands on his hips, quite satisfied with the results. All in all it felt quite habitable, comfortable, and believable as far as he could tell. Not that he was trying to convince anyone at this moment. Which was odd, because what was the point of it then?

Turning around once more, it occurred to Deceit that it was missing one last thing, the final touch to any room. _A door_ , he realized. And with that, a door appeared.

Deceit huffed something like a nervous laugh. But he wasn’t nervous, if anyone asked.

Space was a funny thing, when you became aware of it. When there’s nothing, everything is nothing, and nothing is everything. When you have an in, suddenly there is also an out. And while this new-found ‘in’ Deceit had just created was a little strange, the ‘out’ was a complete, and utter mystery. And so yes, that was a bit disconcerting, if he was honest with himself (which he had no choice but to be. To know the lie, you need also know the truth behind the lie. So while he did lie to himself, he also knew the truth it came from. Like a snake with it’s tail in its mouth. His thoughts were a bit roundabout sometimes.)

Regardless, as both a truth-seeker and lie-speaker, he would just have to find out what was beyond his new reality.

After a moment’s hesitation, Deceit turned the knob and peered through a sliver of the opening. A dark hallway lay beyond, lined with two rows of doors on each side. Beyond that was a set of stairs leading down. Warm light and the sound of voices conversing in varying pitches of excitement echoed up the stairs. Mustering a bit more confidence, Deceit crept out into the hall and closer to the sounds.

Leaning over the edge of the stairs, he could just make out the conversation.

“Look man, I’m just saying, objectively, that Angel of Music seems a bit out of your range. It’s nothing personal.”

“I’m sorry, but I find that statement _very_ personal. My ability to play both the Phantom AND Christine Daiya is something I take great pride in, thank you very much.”

“Not that I claim to know much about the particularities of musical pageantry, but does it truly matter if you possess the vocal capacity to play both? It’s physically impossible to duet with oneself in a live production. Well, for Thomas anyway.”

“Because, Ein Thorn-In-My-Spine, a performer’s vocal range is a highly regarded skill and in order to make the utmost impression during Thomas’s auditions, I must woo them with my deep, dulcet tones as much as my delicately sweet falsettos. If I am to help Thomas realize his dreams then I need to show that I have both depth and breadth!”

“No one’s going to question your lack of breath.”

“Bur-EDTH! If it bugs you so much, then leave.”

“Speaking of bugs! A termite walks into a bar and asks- is the bar _tender_ here?”

“Heh. Nice.”

“I don’t understand. Isn’t that what most patrons of drinking establishments request to know when they arrive?”

“Yeah but… he’s wondering, is the bar -”

“I. AM. TRYING. TO. REHEARSE!”

 _Shit._ Deceit took a large step back into the gloom.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

As quickly and quietly as he could manage without alerting the other sides to his presence, Deceit scrambled back to his room and shut the door soundly behind him, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

 _Oh no._ This was definitely not good. If the others found him lurking around in their section of the Mindscape, there’s no telling what they might do to him. Especially after that heated courtroom display. With the way he’d antagonized each of them, pointing out their failings, extracting their less than perfect tendencies for Thomas to see. There’s no way they wouldn’t still be angry about that.

Deceit spun on the spot, trying to slow his thoughts down enough to think.

Damnit! He’d gotten careless. Paraded his intentions. Made himself overly known to the other sides while revealing too many cards in his game. Of course they had long known him as a vaguely sinister presence, wading in the further depths of Thomas’ mind, but now, with everything he’d done, they might actually treat him as a threat.

And then there was Virgil.

Masterfully deceptive (though not half as masterful as the master) Virgil. He was an unknown these days, but there were still strings there. Strings he could use against Deceit, but also vice-versa.

That was helpful when Deceit had the upper hand, but here, he was on their playing field. This was their sphere of influence. He had to find a way back to Thomas’ depths.

Deceit closed his eyes, willing the furniture and dressings and walls of the room away the same way they’d come. He envisioned them shrinking down, his enclosure melting and bleeding into black nothingness once again.

A large crash boomed from downstairs, followed by laughter and shouting.

When Deceit opened his eyes, the room was very much unchanged. There was more laughter.

 _Okay, think Deceit._ He sat down on his still stubbornly solid bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. _There’s got to be a way out of this. Or a way to use this._

While this was certainly unexpected, perhaps it was not entirely bad. Perhaps he could change a few aspects of the game, with a little improvisation and a new approach. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was take advantage of an unpleasant situation. Of course, the trick was making it someone else’s unpleasantness.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. In Which Virgil Performs an Exorcism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Digging a little deeper into the Mindscape this chapter, and how the sides function, etc. Also, if you've noticed the tags, you'll see I've decided to take this story in a sliiiiightly different direction - where it was Gen before, I'll now be including elements of Roman/Deceit and past Virgil/Deceit. We'll see how things play out. Hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

For once, Virgil was enjoying the chaos around him.

Usually when the trashing of furniture was involved, his anxiety would be spinning out thoughts like oh god who’s going to clean this up and how are we gonna pay for this and what if the neighbours hear. Though technically speaking, they didn’t _have_ neighbours, or money, or furniture that couldn’t be repaired with a simple intended thought, they were still valid concerns on his impulsive mental highway.

But today? Virgil was feeling good. Even a toppled chair followed by a toppled Roman and another toppled, unsuccessfully-used-as-a-last-minute-grapple Logan, couldn’t puncture his positive mood.

Thomas had spent the day finishing his edits, posting his latest videos on time, and then rewarding himself with a relaxing evening of Ben and Jerry’s and bingeing Umbrella Academy, in which Virgil was maybe slightly crushing hard on the character Klaus. His eyeliner was undoubtedly on point.

It was a welcome relief, enjoying the mental pace equivalent of a smooth drive through the country rather than the usual bumper-car pit of screaming children. Which made it all the more disappointing when Deceit appeared at the top of the stairs, hands clasped behind his back.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

The sides froze in place, gaping for a solid, awkward moment until Logan, from his arrangement on the floor shouted, “Deceit!”

Deceit chuckled low, “Correct. Though, while I’m certainly inclined towards dramatics, shouting my name _every_ time is getting a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“How did you get in here? How did he-?” Roman scrambled up, looking to each side with confusion. “Did one of you invite him?”

“I didn’t!” exclaimed Virgil and Patton simultaneously, followed by a whispered “jinx” from Patton.

“I most certainly did not,” said Logan, brushing down his shirt as he also stood.

Deceit laughed again from the stairs, sending a long shiver down Virgil’s spine. “My dear friends, why so concerned? I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

“Lies,” spat Virgil. “And we’re not your friends.”

Deceit scoffed, giving Virgil a particularly amused look, before shifting into a sympathetic one. “If you would let me speak for a moment, I could explain my true intentions. Nothing deceptive or unscrupulous, I swear.”

“Against your very nature?” questioned Roman, tone light but with one hand poised on the hilt of his sword.

“As I explained before, it is just a matter of self control. And to be honest, truly, irrefutably honest, it took a great deal of resolve to bring myself here now. Fighting against my nature, as you pointed out, to do so. Which is to say, I came to, ah... apologize.”

There was another long drag of silence. Until Roman burst out laughing. “You? Apologize? That is quite possibly the funniest thing I have witnessed today! And believe me, I’ve watched a fair share of cats vs. cucumber videos.”

“It’s true!” said Deceit. “I know,” he sighed, pushing up the brim of his bowler with a single gloved finger, “I know it’s not easy to believe me, after everything I’ve done previously, but you need to hear me out.”

“We don’t need to hear anything,” sneered Virgil. His pulse was already getting dangerously high and he couldn’t stop his fingers picking at his sleeves.

Patton’s hand appeared on Virgil’s shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. The blue-clad side offered a careful, lopsided smile. “Hey… it’s okay? Maybe we can see what he has to say and then decide.” Patton chewed his lip, looking back to Deceit. “If he is telling the truth…I don’t know. Maybe we can work with that.”

Virgil couldn’t agree less, but Patton’s warmth did calm his fingers slightly. “Fine,” he conceded.

Patton smiled, though it looked forced. “Go ahead, Deceit. You have our ears.”

“He does not,” said Logan.

“He means figuratively,” supplied Roman.

“My fellow sides! Look, we are all a part of Thomas’s psyche, are we not? And while I do admit my methods are not always to your taste, I too care very much for his well-being. I, like you, only want what’s best for him, and in my tireless pursuit of Thomas’ happiness, I may, perhaps, have gotten a little carried away, if you will. Overly focused on the goal without taking your values into consideration. I realize now, after reflecting on my actions during the court case, that my ways, while effective… may not be what Thomas needs. What Thomas needs is all of you… your moral guidance, and honesty and compassion and ah… goodness. And by not realizing that I… I hurt you. I tried to sabotage your standing in Thomas’s eyes and for that, I am sorry.” Deceit removed his hat completely so the full extent of his facial scales were showing, holding both his hand and his hat over his heart.

The sides exchanged another round of glances. Patton looked pained, Roman confused and Logan… well Logan looked about as unaffected as he usually did, with maybe a tinge of curiosity.

Virgil was barely able to stop his foot stamping. “You guys can’t seriously be buying this bullcrap, are you? He’s Deceit! He’ll say anything to get what he wants!”

“Well… I - I dunno, kiddo, that sounded pretty sincere to me.” Patton ran a hand through his hair. “And it does seem like his empathy has improved.”

Virgil turned to Roman. “Surely you can’t be on board.”

Roman gave what might have been a shrug or a cringe, “I did like the part where he said nice things about us?”

Breathing through his nose, Virgil turned on Logan.

Logan adjusted his glasses, peering straight at Deceit. “From that speech, it’s certainly clear that his perspective has grown to include a wider understanding of Thomas’ moral and mental complexities and our essential roles within those complexities. Though given his past behaviour, there is still a high probability that he is fabricating his true feelings. Though, if he is, I must say his performance has improved exponentially.”

That was not the ‘hell no’ Virgil was looking for. All of them were falling prey, and Deceit was surely lapping it up. He had to talk to the others, get Deceit away from them.

“Okay, fine! You’ve made your speech. Would you mind seeing yourself out now? We’re… about to have dinner,” he finished lamely.

Deceit made an exaggeratedly hurt expression.

“Now Virgil, we needn’t be so harsh,” said Patton, though Virgil didn’t miss the furtive glance he shot Deceit. “Though perhaps we _could_ use a moment Deceit, to talk over what you said? This is a bit of a shock to us.”

“I am certainly shook,” confirmed Roman.

“Of course, by all means,” said Deceit with a wave of his hand, “converse away.” He then returned his hat to his head and gave the impression of ignoring them.

“Um, perhaps a little further away?” suggested Patton.

Deceit jumped slightly. “Of course,” he coughed. He turned, ascended to the top of the stairs, then again stood, staring calmly and intently at the far wall.

“He means leave the house, idiot!”

“Virgil!”

“I agree with Mental Stall-Out Boy, we can’t have him hovering over us while we decide his punishment - I mean, whether we should forgive him.”

“Yes, it would be best if we had privacy on this.”

Deceit looked to them all, an edge of concern lining his smile. “Perhaps ah… if you have a washroom I could visit? I would be out of earshot and -”

Virgil’s heart dropped as a new suspicion dawned on him. _Oh no. Oh no no no no._

“You can’t leave,” he realized, his voice toneless.

Deceit’s smile twitched, though he didn’t answer. The others turned to Virgil.

“You can’t leave because you - you have-” Virgil didn’t even bother finishing the thought, instead rushing up the stairs and past Deceit, down the hall to find what he already knew was there. “A room,” he finished. Anxiety flared up like a gasoline fire in his blood. “You have a room,” Virgil repeated, his voice feeling very far away as he stared at the unassuming door now wedged into the furthest wall down the hall.

This couldn’t be happening. Deceit could not be one of them, one of the household. He would destroy it, invert it, turn it into something imbalanced and dark and far from the home he’d finally found some peace and comfort it. Everything he’d worked so hard on changing, on bringing into his life, his friends, his home, all of it would-

“Hey, take a deep breath,” Patton’s soft voice and hands rubbing along his back brought Virgil back to the present. He took in a long, slow breath, then turned to see the other’s varying expressions of shock as they all stood around him, staring at the door.

“He’s actually here,” whispered Roman. “Like here, here. As in -”

“We have a new roommate,” stated Logan, matter-of-factly.

  
  
  


 

*~*~*

 

 

 

They convened in the kitchen, not exactly out of earshot from where Deceit sat tied to a chair in the living room, but it was the furthest they could get while still keeping an eye on him.

“So let me get this straight,” said Roman, leaning against the fridge, brow set in a deep frown. “Now that he has an ‘official’ room in our home, he can’t just disappear into the mysteriously murky depths from whence he came? Or slithered, I should say. He’s stuck here?”

“Exactly,” sighed Virgil from his perch on the kitchen counter. He ignored Patton’s tsking at this. “The same happened with me when I first showed up… Once I found myself in a room, I couldn’t go back to the dark anymore.”

“I didn’t know that!” exclaimed Patton, as he reached for four mugs over Virgil’s shoulder. “I thought you just stayed because you liked us so much!”

Leaning out of the way, Virgil couldn’t help a small huff of a laugh. “I do feel that way… now, at least. I’m happy here. But at the time I was kind of freaked out. I wasn’t used to having my own physical presence or inhabiting a physical space unless it was directly with Thomas. It was a bit… overwhelming.”

Patton put the tea box down and placed a hand on Virgil’s knee. “You should have told us, Virg.”

“I wasn’t really talking to any of you much back then. I kinda hid in my room for the first while.”

“I remember,” huffed Roman. “We were close to breaking down the door and laying siege if you didn’t come out.”

“You were the only one considering that,” said Logan.

“Still,” Roman coughed, “we’re ah… glad you did finally join us.”

“It was a growing period, for me. I had to learn how to deal with the changes as I became more uh- openly present- in Thomas’ life, and with you guys.”

“What changes were those?” asked Logan. He was leaning against the counter opposite Virgil, arms crossed tightly over this chest.

“Well,” Virgil shifted, bringing his knees up to his chin. “I guess, just… figuring out how to do life things, like eating, sleeping, showering… and also _why_ I was suddenly doing those things.”

“These are basic survival activities, Virgil. Eating provides the body with necessary nourishment, while sleeping allows the body to sufficiently replenish itself.”

“I know.”

“And showering deters the growth of unwanted bacterial growth-”

“I know.”

“-leading to potential illness and or death. Together they allow for the optimal extension of a human’s life-span, particularly in the case of-”

“But we’re not human.”

Logan stiffened, his words dying in their tracks. “Not technically, no. But…”

There was a long, awkward pause amongst the sides then. Roman shuffled where he stood, while Logan fixed his tie, even though it was already straight. Patton just chewed his lower lip.

It was something they all knew, and understood. It wasn’t a bad thing, being a part of a whole. it was just something they didn't talk about much. With all their domestic activities, their increasingly autonomous lives and personalities. It was just getting easier to forget somehow, sometimes.

The kettle began to wail in the silence and Virgil quickly continued, “I get it now though! I do. Why we do it, for Thomas’ sake. So we can understand and help him better, right? It’s for him.”

The other sides all smiled, knowingly. It was always for Thomas.

“But yeah, transitioning was strange. You guys have been acknowledged as an overt part of Thomas’ life for so much longer than me. I guess you don’t remember what it was like before? Being in the dark?”

Logan and Roman shared a look while Patton busied himself with the tea.

“Not really, to be honest,” conceded Roman. “I remember a vague emptiness, in the beginning, but I was quickly joined by these two. We’ve lived together for as long as I can remember.”

“Fascinating,” purred Logan, bringing a thumb and forefinger to his chin. “It’s true that while Roman, Patton and I built this mindscape residence together quite some time ago, as long as I too can remember, your entrance was a different circumstance- ah, thank you Patton. I had not really considered what your existence was like before joining us in the household.”

Virgil accepted a mug from Patton, breathing in the steamy chamomile. “It was only after Thomas started talking to me directly, acknowledging that I was a part of him, even if he hadn’t fully accepted me yet. That when I found myself in a room,” Virgil explained. “My guess is the same happened with Deceit.”

“Of course,” interjected Logan. “It would seem that the more conceivable a side becomes in his consciousness, the more tangible their existence in his mind, still metaphysically speaking of course.”

“So you’re saying, “Roman said slowly, using his mug for emphasis and sloshing tea in the process. “The more aware Thomas becomes of a side, the more closely _their_ lives reflect _his_ life?”

“It’s like we’re closer to the surface, yeah,” shrugged Virgil.

“It’s like Thomas is the sun! And we’re all seagulls splashing on the ocean waves, basking in his radiance on a summer’s day!” gasped Patton.

“And so his subconscious is the sea?”

“Yeah! Those dark, murky depths filled with all kinds of creepy, slimy, jagged toothed, blood-thirsty-”

“Okay no more imagery please.”

“I truly do not follow this metaphor.”

“I take offence to slimy,”  called Deceit from the living room.

“Anyway,” grumbled Virgil, shooting a glare at the reptilian side. “While this might explain why Deceit is here now, it still doesn’t resolve what we’re actually going to _do_ about him.”

The four sides simultaneously turned to look at Deceit. He watched them all with a bored expression.

“You could start by untying me,” he suggested.

“Good try,” shot Roman. “But we all know you cannot be trusted to roam freely, deceiving and manipulating us with your dastardly deceptions!”

“I said I was sorry.”

“You only said that because you’re trapped here,” sneered Virgil. “Of course you’d want us to believe you’ve changed.”

Deceit scoffed, offended. “I _have_ changed. I change all the time. I can change right now.” He illustrated this by transforming himself into Patton. “See? I can be the poster child of virtue.”

“A skin you can shed the moment it’s no longer convenient!” Roman exclaimed, spilling more tea on the floor.

Deceit tried, and failed, not to smirk. It was creepy as hell on Patton’s face.

“Well we can’t very well keep him tied up in the living room forever,” reasoned Logan, taking a slow sip of tea. “It would be incredibly inconvenient for our mobility. And movie nights.”

“We can’t keep him here, period,” said Virgil, rubbing his eyes and trying desperately to think. He wasn’t good at resolving issues. He just knew that there was a very, _very_ big issue sitting tied up in his home. And that issue was now grinning unabashedly at his frustration. _Damn him._ Damn him and his scaly green face. “We could force him to leave,” said Virgil finally, seething at the side. “Our combined intentions were strong enough to bind him, we could will him out the same way.”

A wave of concern flashed over Patton’s face. “Are you sure that’s the best thing to do, Virg? I mean, if he’s here it means he really is an important side of Thomas-”

“No!” interrupted Virgil, jumping off the counter and landing hard on the linoleum, making everyone jump. “We can’t let him have any more influence on Thomas! You saw what he did in the courtroom, how he undermined you Patton, and manipulated you Roman. And Logan, he basically exiled you from the whole debate! Can you imagine him having that kind of influence in every conversation? We need to push him back. He has to _go._ ”

The other’s exchanged nervous glances, but no one moved to argue. They couldn’t deny how painful that scenario had been, for all of them.

The kitchen felt very small then, like an invisible weight was pushing down on the walls and ceiling, making them all shift where they stood.

“It’s worth a try,” shrugged Logan finally. “Even for the experiment alone.”

Roman seemed to shake some thought away before perking himself up, shoulders pulled back. “If it’s for Thomas’ well being,” he declared grandly, “we should do everything we can to clear his mind of corruption!”

Virgil nodded, turning to Patton. He had a strange look on his face, and it occurred to Virgil that no matter how much time they’d spent together, it was still very unsettling to see the childish side being serious. He looked at Virgil with something between shock and disappointment.

Virgil’s stomach dropped, a painful, wrench of a feeling. He knew what Patton was thinking. He didn’t need to hear it out loud.

Out of all of them, Virgil should have the most sympathy for Deceit. He had been the outcast himself, not long ago. He knew what it was like to be unwanted by the others, to be considered ‘bad’ for Thomas. But this was different. They didn’t know what Deceit was capable of. They didn’t know the Others like he did. And it was better they never found out.

“We need to do this Patton,” said Virgil, rounding on him. “Don’t you get it? You, more than anyone else should understand. He is in total opposition to you. The way he tore you down, degrading and humiliating you in the courtroom like that? That’s just the start. He’ll carve you out and chip away at everything you stand for, everything that makes Thomas a good, honest person. Are you really gonna let that happen?”

“I…” Patton struggled to work his mouth.

_“Are you?”_

“I - no…” Patton conceded quietly. He was blinking a little too fast and Virgil had to swallow down the guilt rising in his throat.

“Good,” Virgil grit out. “Now come on.”

Logan said nothing, but gave Virgil a curiously raised eyebrow as he passed. The others put down their mugs and followed him one by one to the living room, where they made a circle around Deceit. Patton followed last, looking resolutely at his feet.

“Well then, since you’re so determined Virgil, how do you propose we do this, exactly?” Logan crossed his arms, now watching a replica of himself making a variety of ugly expressions. “I suggest we make haste.”

“If I’d known we were going to perform an exorcism today, I would have brought my rosary beads,” chuckled Roman.

“I don’t know, just - concentrate!” Virgil tried. “Imagine him disintegrating or - melting into nothing.”

“That’s dark, even for you Virgil,” admonished Deceit with a silky tone. He was now wearing Roman’s face. “Who knew you had such a cruel streak in you? Oh wait, everyone.”

Virgil shushed him, closing his eyes. “Don’t let him distract you. Just set your intention…”

The others went quiet, presumably concentrating with their eyes closed as he was. The silence stretched for a long, tense minute as Virgil held his breath. After a while Deceit began to hum Bad Romance.

“Ugh, it’s not working!” whined Roman. “Maybe we could try chanting?”

“Excellent idea,” cooed Deceit, “I’m surprised you’re not considered the smartest side, Roman.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” Roman blustered.

Virgil took a deep, steadying breath before opening his eyes. Deceit was smirking at him with his own face now.

“Perhaps he is already too cemented in Thomas’ consciousness to be extracted now. To remove him would require Thomas forgetting all his interactions with him thus far.”

“Nooo! Thomas needs all his memories!” wailed Patton. “Even the not so nice ones.”

“Don’t worry, it was merely hypothetical. I don’t believe we have the capacity to meddle with memory to that degree, anyhow.”

“You should try suppression sometime, it works wonders,” supplied Deceit.

“We could lock him in his room?” suggested Roman.

Virgil took a step back, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, after your other horrible suggestions, but that’s not a bad idea, Roman.” The prince’s face paused midway between flattered and insulted. “At least he’ll be out of the main area, and we’ll know where he is.” Virgil sighed again, watching Patton’s body shift slightly against the ropes. “And we don’t have to keep him tied up.”

Deceit exhaled loudly. “Thank Cthulu, these things pinch like a motherfu-”

“Don’t you DARE,” screamed Roman, brandishing his sword, “speak obscenities with our purest of puffball’s pucker pouch!”

“Did you just refer to Patton’s mouth as a pucker pouch?”

“Not my best alliteration.”

“I like it!”

“GUYS,” Virgil groaned. He was starting to feel the edge of a headache coming on. “Let’s just get him to his room. It’s the best we can do for now.”

The sides eyed each other, nodding in agreement.

Virgil still couldn’t believe this was happening and yet, he should have known. Sooner or later the Others would pull something like this. It couldn’t be an accident. Whatever they were up to, whatever Deceit came here to do, it couldn’t be good. Patton, Logan and Roman… they didn’t know the Others like he did, or what they were capable of. Whatever this new scheme was, Virgil would just have to find a way to stop it before his friends got hurt… or worse.  He wouldn’t, he  _ couldn’t _ let that happen. As long as Deceit was here, this home was no longer a safe place.

As Logan and Roman took to untying the deceptive side, the sharp-toothed grin Deceit gave Virgil was both a dare and a warning.

_I won’t tell if you won’t,_ it said.

  
  
  



	3. In Which Roman Has a Lot of Feelings About Quiche

  
  
  


All in all, the attempt to make a ham and spinach quiche had not been a complete failure. Sure, it looked absolutely nothing like the glossy picture online, but everyone knows those marketing shots were highly contrived, sometimes not even made with real food. For someone who had never spent more than three minutes in front of a stove-top (and that was mostly to get an early bite of dinner when Patton wasn’t looking), Roman thought it looked pretty good. Besides one half being on the blackish side and the other sporting shards of egg shell. Apparently when a recipe says ‘add three eggs’ it does not actually mean the entire egg. Go figure.

“Oh… wow, smells great!” Patton leaned around Roman to peer at the bubbling, slightly smoking mass. “I’m sure we can, ah… scrape the burnt part off.”

Roman was about to agree when the smoke alarm began wailing loudly, making them both jump. Patton rushed to grab the broom, waving it wildly in front of the device while Roman scrambled to open a window.

“Don’t worry, this - ack! happens... sometimes!” Patton smiled even as he flailed, wincing at the assaulting noise.

“For the love of peace and quiet, turn that thing _off!”_ Virgil yelled from the couch, cringing into the depths of his hoodie.

“Almost...got it... There!” yelled Patton. The alarm petered out with a final whining beep, and the three sides sigh in relief. The quiche continued to make angry hissing sounds from the counter.

“Well then,” said Patton, wiping his forehead. “Crisis averted. How about you uh.. go freshen up? I’ll finish things off from here, okay Roman?”

“Oh… yes, of course,” said Roman with a start. He quickly removed his oven mitts and apron, hovering awkwardly over the counter mess for a moment. “You sure you don’t want some help cleaning up?”

“No, no. You’ve been a huge help already! I’ll call you down when it’s ready, okay?”

“Okay, yeah,” Roman nodded, “cool.”

There was a snort from the couch.

Roman trudged back up the stairs, resolutely ignoring Virgil on the way, who was most probably making a face. He pushed into his room with slightly more force than needed. After a moment of aimless puttering and shuffling some music sheets, Roman collapsed on his bed with a groan.

 _It’s just a stupid quiche,_ he thought angrily. It’s not like it mattered.

Of course, Patton was almost always the one who cooked, making incredible dinners that brought them all together. It was a basic ritual, but it forced them to hang out, and was one of the few times they all got along. Mostly. On Patton’s insistence, they were forced to leave side arguments aside, even if just for a meal.

Patton had been nice enough to let Roman take over dinner tonight, though it hadn’t gone past his notice how nervous the other had been about it. With fair reason, apparently. Before that, Roman had attempted to help Logan with his self-elected secretarial duties, though that hadn’t lasted long either. Apparently revising Thomas’s work agenda into a choose-your-own-adventure script was ‘distracting’ and ‘not in the least bit conducive to Thomas’s productivity.’ Maybe not by _his_ standards of productivity.

Roman huffed, snatching his ukelele off the bedside stand and strumming it tunelessly. Even Virgil wouldn’t let Roman join his meditation in the living room, saying his continuous ‘Ohms’ were unnecessary and irritating. It’s not Roman’s fault he had a better voice for Ohming. How else were you supposed to stay entertained? Meditating was just meant to be boring, he supposed. Even if it did help Thomas relax.

Whatever. Roman didn’t need to cook or meditate or organize calendars. He would figure something else out, something that would be more useful to Thomas than all those things combined. He just had to think. Think _harder._ If only his brain would cooperate… manifest something brilliant - then maybe...

Roman let out another long groan. It was no use. His creative juice was drier than Logan’s sense of humour.

Roman’s fingers continued to strum, changing chords in no particular order as he stared into space. He couldn’t even say this was Deceit’s doing, since this brain-fog had been around far longer than he had. His presence in the household certainly didn’t help though. The guy was a total enigma. In one moment, syrupy sweet and charming and the next, downright viperous. Just thinking about that slippery snake set his teeth on edge.

Roman imagined the side locked up in the furthest corner of the house, probably plotting some nefarious new scheme from the shadows. Or making little voodoo dolls of each of them. Or whatever else it was villains did in their free time.

At least he wasn’t the only one disturbed.

Virgil had spent the better part of the week sulking in his room, only coming out for dinner and to occasionally meditate in the living room. This wasn’t unusual, apart from a notable increase in moodiness and his snapping at even the slightest of annoyances, which seemed to be every sound and interaction under the sun. Patton was still his typical, bubbly self, though Roman had noticed the side had become increasingly absorbed in his domestic activities, practically ceaseless in some baking project or cupboard repair. It was only the other night Roman had woken up to get some water, and found Patton still cleaning out the fridge, scrubbing furiously and mumbling to himself. It hadn’t even been that dirty, really.

Logan was the only one who’d remained relatively unphased, but then, that was Logan. He wasn’t an easy one to throw off balance, though Roman felt he had been a little sharper with him than usual.

Roman was still lost in thought when Patton called him for dinner. The others ambled down to the dining table too, taking their plates and scooping out slices of quiche and salad. The dish was somehow immaculate now, not unlike the online photo. Roman was pretty sure Patton had just summoned a new one instead of his claimed ‘just a few scrapes off the top, really!’ but he didn’t mention it. The sides ate in mostly silence, chewing thoughtfully with the occasional request for salt. Patton attempted some jokes to break the mood, but after a few counter-quips and comments, the quiet continued. Roman felt bad for not trying to help lighten things. He just couldn’t come up with anything. Even though that was his job. Coming up with things.

They finished their meals fairly quickly, with Logan attempting to help clear the dishes before Patton shooed him away. They were doing their best, he realized. To keep things normal. Even though the current situation was anything but. Having the personification of deception under house-arrest in your home didn’t exactly make great dinner conversation.

Virgil pushed past Roman, pulling his hood over his head and trudging up the stairs like some broody storm cloud.

He supposed Virgil had taken some getting used to too.

But even then, Virgil had never been so cryptic. He’d been mean and antagonistic, sure, but at least his methods had been fairly surface-level. Downright juvenile, really. Unlike Deceit, whose intentions were harder to follow than a coin in a shuffle-cup scam. Even when he was obviously weaving his webs, Roman couldn’t help noticing certain inflections in his sentiment, something soft in the lilt of his voice that made you think that maybe he wasn’t entirely… But no. That was stupid. He was being stupid.

Roman chased the thought away, making his way upstairs again.

He made to head for his room, but instead found himself pausing, feeling drawn to examine the new door, looming like a dark shadow at the end of the hall. So far their combined intentions had kept Deceit locked firmly inside, but the thought of the surreptitious side slithering out in the night still sent shivers down his spine.

He hadn’t forgotten them. The voices of the Others. The darker, deeper parts of Thomas that hadn’t made their way to the surface. At least not yet. Their names and forms were still a mystery to Roman, but they were certainly there. Making their needs known, crying for attention. In the beginning, Roman had only heard snatches of their sentiments when they spoke to Thomas. Then, one day they were suddenly much closer, their voices all around Roman, seeming to observe his every move and thought. Slipping into his mind like smooth fingers in a cool pond.

Roman shuddered at the memory. Deceit had been among those voices, urging him to lie, to hide or manipulate. Seeing him in person made him considerably less scary, but even now, he was still so unknown, tantalizing them with his presence, just waiting to-

“Don’t stare too hard, you’ll wear down the varnish.”

Only a great deal of self-control kept Roman from flinging his sword into the face of the offending voice behind him. Patton jumped back, nearly dropping the plate of food in his hands. “Woah! Just me!” he laughed nervously. “A bit jumpy, eh?”

Roman sighed, relaxing his shoulders. “Oh, it’s just you. Sorry Patton, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t scared,” Patton chuckled, “just beside myself with worry, if you know what I mean.”

Roman smirked, then realized what the plate in Patton’s hands was for. “You’re taking that to him?”

Patton looked surprised, then uncomfortable as he stared down at the quiche. “Yeah… I mean, I figured, since he’s here… he’s technically part of the household right? This is his home too so we should at least try… to... try.” Patton’s voice petered off into a quiet mumble, and Roman felt his throat get prickly. Patton was too good sometimes. Too good for this horrible situation. The other side continued to examine the plate, shifting on his feet. “I don’t know,” he continued quickly. “Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn’t-”

“Would you like me to bring it in?” offered Roman.

Patton looked up in surprise again, then bit down on the too-big smile that followed. “That would be really... good. Thanks Roman.”

“Of course,” he preened, “as the bravest side, I wouldn’t dream of letting someone else take on this dangerous task. Just as Perseus had to enter the Gorgon Medusa’s den, I too will enter the snake’s lair with utmost resolve and courage! And quiche.”

“Right on, kiddo. Just don’t get too handsy with that sword there, I’m sure Dee needs his head where it is,” Patton laughed, then looked uncomfortable. “Gorgan jokes aside though, you look good, Roman. I mean, more spirited than earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“You know, today, when we were helping Thomas. Helping his brother move, and Joan with their appointment… it was pretty hectic, but you were kinda quiet.”

“Was I? I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay! Just not your usual flair and gusto.”

“I suppose I was a little distracted,” he shrugged. “There was that singing workshop I was sort of hoping we’d go to.”

“Oh my gosh! That was today? I forgot all about it!”

“Yeah but - don’t worry about it! It’s not a big deal, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Thomas had friend and family stuff to do. It was just a little side thing anyway.” Roman straightened as he cleared his throat, voice deepening, “it’s our duty to ensure Thomas is there in his loved ones’ times of need!”

Patton looked like he was going to say something, but then thought better of it. He handed Roman the plate with a smile. “You’ve changed a lot, Roman. I’m proud of you.”

Roman looked aside, his heart doing a little acrobatic feat in his chest. It wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling, but he accepted the plate with a grin regardless. “Thanks, Patton.”

Patton nodded encouragingly, before slipping away into his room.

Roman sucked in one last breath for courage. He reached out and knocked on the door.

Several long moments passed. No answer came.

 _Well._ It was no welcome, but it wasn’t exactly a ‘stay out’ either. Roman took hold of the cold knob, twisting slowly. “I’m coming in,” he announced, then entered the room.

Deceit was lounging comfortably on a queen sized bed, a book perched in one hand, while the other draped lazily over his stomach. He was wearing only his black slacks and a yellow button up shirt, while his bowler hat, gloves and overcoat were slung carelessly on the dresser across the room. The room itself was tastefully decorative, with books adorning the shelves and plants creeping into every corner like a botanical garden. Curious of all though, was the assortment of gadgets and paraphernalia splayed across his desk, from playing cards and bright fabrics, to locks, handcuffs and a large box covered in black velvet.

“Have you encroached on my space for any particular reason, or have you come simply to gawk at my things?”

Roman closed his mouth with a snap, eyeing the snake with wariness. This was no time to be distracted by oddities.

“I’ll have you know, a man of my standing does not _encroach._ Invade, thwart, and breach, yes. But encroach? Never. That sounds so…. roach-y.”

“Of course. There is nothing pest-like about you, Roman.” Deceit closed his book with a snap, barely allowing Roman to make out its lengthy title, _The Deceivers: Allied Military Deception in the Second World War_ , before tossing it aside.

Roman swallowed, steeling himself and raising his chin in defiance.

“You seem nervous,” purred Deceit, shifting to make himself comfortable.

“I’m not,” said Roman.

Deceit smirked, rolling his eyes. “All right, you’re not. Is that supposed to be for me?”

Roman looked down at the plate, mostly cold now in his hands. “Um.. yes,” he said lamely, then quickly continued. “Patton wanted you to have some. Now that you’re here. He thought you shouldn’t be excluded.”

“How sweet,” sighed Deceit, stretching his arms over his head. It was strange how much more slow and serpentine his movements were when he was relaxed. “But entirely ridiculous. You know we don’t need to eat, right?”

“Of course I know that.”

“Then why bother with casseroles?”

“It’s quiche.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

Deceit arched an eyebrow at Roman, observing him with a kind of quiet intensity. His snake eye, with its vertical slit and disturbingly yellow hue, reminded Roman of the mesmerizing python from the Jungle Book. But instead of morphing into hypnotic circles of colour, it just stared at him, unblinking and slightly curious. Roman felt very aware of himself suddenly, standing in the middle of Deceit’s room. He turned and placed the plate on the crowded desk, nudging a thick chain over to do so.

“I’m not one to pry, but if this stuff has something to do with that BDSM video Thomas found ages ago-”

“Are you all right, Roman?”

“I- what?” The question was not remotely what Roman had been expecting, and he swivelled back around to find Deceit now sitting upright on his bed, hands clasped together.

“Not that I’ve spent enough time in your company to know you well, but you seem... off. Is it me?”

Roman blinked for a moment, clearing his throat. “Well, I can’t say your joining us hasn’t been surprising and… to be honest a little worrying but -” Roman realized he was being far too familiar. If he’d learned anything from his past experience with Deceit, it was to give as little as possible, lest he twist it into something he could use against you. “I’m fine,” he stated sharply. “And you certainly don’t scare me.”

Deceit’s brow rose higher. “That’s quite the leap. I wouldn’t presume to intimidate somewhat as stalwart as you, Princey. I simply meant that you seem… less focused.”

“How do you mean?” asked Roman defensively.

“Well, as you know,” Deceit hissed, “I’m not limited from observing the events of Thomas’s day, even with my forced imprisonment here.” Roman winced at the reminder. It’s not like he didn’t know what this was, but it still sounded harsh coming from Deceit’s mouth. “I’m still connected to him at all times, as you are. Though now it seems I can watch his interactions with all of you much more clearly than before. I suppose you’re used to that, but for me, this front row seat has been quite... enlightening.” Deceit smirked to himself, losing himself to some inner thought.

“Yeah well, it comes with the territory,” said Roman dryly. “The four of us are always connected.”

“The five of us, it would now seem.”

“Seems so,” agreed Roman, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Roman berated himself inwardly. _Of course,_ why hadn’t he realized it sooner? It’s not like they could completely restrain him from Thomas. Just because Deceit hadn’t popped in for any of their discussions lately, didn’t mean he wasn’t able to. Though why he hadn’t yet was curious in itself.

“And what have you learned from all this spying, exactly?” Roman growled.

Deceit raised his hands, placatingly. “Only what I already suspected. Now I’m just more certain than ever.”

“If you don’t stop talking in ambiguities and get to the point, I swear I will get you there with _my_ point! And trust me when I say it is _much_ pointier!” Roman’s hand clenched the hilt of his sword on reflex, and Deceit visibly flinched. Roman realized, with sudden fascination, that it was the first time he’d witnessed something like fear in the other’s eyes. The others knew Roman’s threats were just bravado, but Deceit… did he really think he would hurt him?

The look disappeared as soon as it came, however, and the side resumed in his usual drawl “Point taken. It’s just that, I couldn’t help but notice how little the others have been listening to you, Roman. It seems to me you haven’t been voicing yourself nearly as… boldly as you used to.”

“Are you kidding?” Roman scoffed, leaning against the desk and making wide gestures with his hands. “My boldness is unwavering! My exclamations and inflections are the loudest resounding vocalizations in the room! I’ll have you know, when a prince speaks, his words are to be heeded!”

“Of course they are,” agreed Deceit patiently. “As they should be. But have they been?”

“They have,” Roman stated firmly. “I’ve just - I’ve been letting the others speak more because I’ve grown! I’ve realized that Thomas has many important needs beyond just my own desires. Needs that require him to focus his attention in many places. His friends and family for example, as you should know by now, are _very_ important to him.”

“Interesting,” hissed Deceit, propping his elbow on one knee and resting his cheek in his palm. Even as his posture relaxed, his focus intensified. “You speak of growth, Roman, and that may be very well. But what I’m hearing is an imbalanced perspective. Why is that the things Patton values are ‘needs’ whereas the things you value are simply ‘desires’?”

Roman blinked, caught off by this observation. “Well, they’re not… exactly.”

“But that’s what you said.”

“They’re important in a different way!” he stammered, hunching slightly. _Gods,_ he shouldn’t be here right now, shouldn’t even be entertaining a conversation with _Deceit._ It was too late though, he’d already wriggled his way under Roman’s skin. He couldn’t just end it now.

“The dreams I wish for are large and grandiose!” continued Roman, using more broad, emphatic gestures. “They’ll take time and crafting, a steady honing of skills to one day see Thomas on the greatest of stages! Patton and Logan… even Virgil, they’re all about social investments, daily tasks, calming exercises. Their goals for Thomas tend to be more day-to-day, more…”

“Realistic?”

“What? No!”

“No?”

“They may be dreams right now, but I assure you one day they will be _very_ real!”

“Then why isn’t Thomas prioritizing them? Why is he putting his dreams on the back shelf?”

“He’s not!”

“Roman, I can tell when you’re lying and frankly, I’m starting to get dizzy from it.” Deceit rubbed his temple efficaciously, shifting slightly on the bed. “Have you considered that your _growth_ may in fact be a weakening? That you’re attitude towards _sharing_ Thomas’s attention is actually damaging him and his self-worth?”

“How DARE you!” yelled Roman, rising to his full height. “I would never do that to Thomas!”

“No? You don’t think that letting Thomas constantly push his dreams aside for those of others isn’t teaching him that his own needs are less important? That _he’s_ less important?”

“That’s not- he isn’t-!” Roman growled, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head furiously. “You’re- you’re twisting things all up! You lie! You villain!”

“How am I the villain? If anyone is acting the role here, it’s _you_ Roman.” Deceit was growing angry now, his calm exterior crumbling as his voice rose in volume and speed. “Tell me, _Princey,_ how often do you end up apologizing for your desires? How often do you use nicknames and put-downs to make yourself look superior, when you really feel insecure? And why is it you’ve been dampening your own voice? Because you know letting the others lead will bring Thomas to the right choice? The _good_ choice? And why, more than anything, did you feel Thomas should be _punished_ for wanting to pursue the one thing he’s desired more than anything else, ever since he was a child?”  

“You.. you don’t understand,” Roman stuttered, feeling too exposed, cornered like an animal. He wanted to run, to end this but his mouth kept moving, almost on its own, latching onto the first retort he could find. “The court case - I had to - had to end it that way. I know it’s not what you expected but that’s just who Thomas _is._ Maybe going to the wedding wasn’t what he outright wanted but - his empathy - his selflessness is everything to him. It’s what makes him so good!”

“I know that!” yelled Deceit, standing furiously, “but why does selfishness have to make him _bad?_ ”

For once, Roman couldn’t think of anything to say, and the room went deathly silent.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, willing something coherent to come out and negate what Deceit was saying. Something that would prove how ridiculous these assertions were. Nothing came.

Roman looked down at the floor, his hands shaking.

He heard Deceit sigh, then the shuffle of fabric as he sat down again. “You don’t have to perform for me, Roman. I can see right through your hero act.”

Roman wilted, unable to respond.

He didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t quite that black and white but, it’s true he’d been having some less than noble feelings lately. About Thomas’s friends and family, and how much they were asking of him. How endless it felt. And Logan’s productivity schedule, though more effectively implemented than ever, was taking so much of Thomas’s energy and mental space, there was hardly any room left at the end of the day. And Virgil, with his new mental health regime...

He wanted to be happy for Thomas, that he was growing into a kind and caring person, an intelligent and organized adult but, to be honest... he wasn’t.

“I’m so confused,” said Roman quietly and his eyes immediately began to sting, because this was _Deceit._ He shouldn’t be opening up to him, shouldn’t be confessing what he’d been concealing from the others for so long, hoping they wouldn’t notice. Hoping they wouldn’t find out how selfish he still was.

“I just- I want to support Thomas as best I can,” Roman continued, beginning to pace the room. “To help him become the best version of himself that he can be but… I don’t think I know what that _is_ anymore.”

Deceit listened quietly, his posture once again relaxed on the bed.

“I know Thomas needs me. I help him with his videos, his music, his auditions, the occasional romantic pursuit, and that’s all incredibly rewarding...”

“But?”

Roman groaned, wanting to collapse onto the floor and disappear, but settled instead for sitting down next to Deceit, burying his face in his hands.

“But I can’t help feeling like everything I do is hurting Thomas!” he exclaimed, folding his hands on his lap. “Sure, it’s fun and exciting for now. And I love seeing how happy it makes him. Helping him unleash his creativity and follow his passions is the greatest feeling in the world!” Roman swallowed, glancing at Deceit. The side was still watching him intently. “But when it comes down to it, when we really get to the root of Thomas’s issues I - I feel like these things are ultimately causing him more problems.”

“What do you mean?”

Roman shook his head. There was no point hiding it. His voice was soft when he spoke again. “You saw how upset he was in the courtroom. When he realized his desire for the callback had made him neglect his friends. Those desires are my fault. I pushed Thomas to prioritize his passions, thinking it would make him happy, but in the end - it just made him into someone he didn’t like.”

Roman keened forward, then fell back onto the bed with a huff. He didn’t even care about being on guard anymore. He felt like a pile of glorified crap, Deceit be damned.

“And yet… I still want… I want to be important to him,” he grit out, teeth clenched so hard it hurt.

Deceit peered down at him with an oddly mixed expression, like it was warring between concern and total exasperation. “Oh, my dear, sweet prince. Have you not listened to a word I said?”

“You’ve said a lot of things,” whined Roman, turning his head away.

“Yes, well, I’m getting exhausted playing the ambiguous therapist so I’m just going to come out and say it clearly this time. I know you’re not going to believe me, because I’m me, but being selfish does not make you a bad person.”

Roman kept his face turned resolutely away. There was an art print on the wall, filled with a labyrinth of surreal, floating stairs. He let his gaze flow gently through it.

“Valuing your own desires above others is not an evil thing to do, Roman. It’s normal. It’s taking care of yourself and seeing to it that your own needs are met. What do you think will happen to Thomas if he never puts himself first, always giving, giving, giving himself to others? What’s going to be left? Who is he going to be?”

The stairwells changed as Roman’s eyes shifted. What appeared to be one going up was really another coming down. “But the others-”

“The others have their own perspective. One which I understand, even if I don’t entirely- okay, _remotely_ agree with. But you and I? I believe we share a different view. Even though you say staying quiet is the right thing to do, you know that deep down it feels wrong.”

The stairwells began to bleed into each other.

“You’re not growing, Roman, you’re punishing yourself. For loving Thomas in the only way you know how.”

Blacks and white swirled into grays.

“And it hurts, doesn’t it?”

They were so blurry now, Roman had to bury his eyes in the crux of his arm. _Why? Why was this so complicated? Why did everything have to be so-_

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder then. It didn’t move or pat, or even squeeze. It just stayed there like a solid statement. An allowance.

_Stop pretending._

Roman felt something give out then, something he didn’t even know he was holding in such a tight little place inside him, until it was rushing out, crashing through him like a wave. The self-loathing, the guilt. A sense of overwhelming failure. It was devastating. It was all too much.

He didn’t know what to do anymore, or who to be. If he couldn’t help Thomas, then _what was he doing here?_ How much more damage would he inflict before he figured it out? How much more would he have to twist and contort himself before the others were happy? Before _he_ was happy?

What began as a series of small tremors grew steadily into violent, wracking sobs as Roman convulsed, mussing the sheets on the bed. Even as he curled away, Deceit kept his hand firmly on his shoulder. He didn’t move or interrupt, just waited patiently, watching as Roman made a complete and utter idiot of himself.

 _Of all the people to fall apart in front of,_ thought Roman, letting out another shameful sob. _At least it wasn’t Virgil._

Roman shook the thought away, focusing on steadying his breath instead, on the soft weight of Deceit’s fingers through the fabric of his tunic. How could they be so warm?

After what felt like ages, Roman’s eyes stopped prickling and his outburst died down to the odd, sporadic gasp. From then, it was only the sound of quiet breathing, their inhales and exhales softly syncing.

Feeling rather numb, and more than a little embarrassed, Roman slowly lifted his arm. He forced himself to look up at Deceit. The side was surprisingly relaxed. Nothing theatrical, or put-upon. No mockery or judgement. Just solidly there. Okay with this.

It was strange and… not at all what he expected.

It made Roman want to lay there for a long, long time.

And why couldn’t he? Whose permission did he need to let himself exist quietly for once? To shrug off his royal posture and just lie there, splayed out with nothing left to lose and nothing to prove to anyone. He was already torn wide open anyway. What did he have to fear? In this strange new room that was nearly a world away from the others. Their eyes and scrutiny. _It could feel good_ , he thought, a conspiratory heat rushing to his chest. Surrendering to someone so foreign, and yet so familiar. No defences or ego. Just letting himself… be.

And for a brief, inconceivable moment, Roman imagined giving in to that feeling.

That was, before the more mentally intact part of his brain kicked the doors in.

“I- I should go,” Roman stammered, shrugging off Deceit’s hand and curling himself back up into a sitting position. “I really shouldn’t be here, the others-”

“It’s okay, Roman.”

Roman turned to look at Deceit again. He wore an expression that was very difficult to read. Concern? Confusion? Roman took another shaky breath.

This wasn’t real. The kindness, the consoling. It was just another act. A way to throw Roman off his guard. Deceit had always said kinder things to him, but half of him knew it couldn’t be real. Deceit was mean and scathing and something very different from the person now sitting across from him, telling him it was fine. That letting his deep, selfish desires and hurts and fears splurge out in a horrible mess was completely acceptable. That he understood.

Roman pushed off from the bed before that mental route could go any further, smoothing his tunic out with rushed, jerky movements.

“Right, well, good chat,” he exclaimed, his voice still a little on the croaky side. Deceit moved to stand as well. For once the side seemed almost awkward, unsure of how to respond. Roman didn’t wait for his response, instead offering a single, curt nod before turning for the door. Just before exiting though, he pulled back, his princely composure returned. “Oh, and Deceit?”

“Yes, Roman?”

“Just... eat the damn quiche, okay?”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not obvious by now, this fic basically just started as an excuse to have this conversation and air some of my feelings about the selfishness vs selflessness debate (which I'm sure is far from a closed case in canon, but I'm impatient and the wounds doth burn). Somehow it's turned into a much bigger monster than I planned though, so expect more plot and character development to come. My plans for this story keep changing so sorry if the tags do too :P
> 
> Thanks for reading! And thank you so much for your thoughts and comments, they're hugely appreciated! <3


	4. In Which There Are Far Too Many Feelings and Not Enough Facts

 

 

 

“You want me to  _ what? _ ”

The mechanical tapping of fingers across a keyboard filled the air. 

“I said  _ accept it _ , Virgil. It’s the only solution you haven’t proposed that doesn’t involve unethical persuasion, arson, mind control, waterboarding, dunking - which was completely ineffectual in the identification of witches by the way - and the general violation of human rights laws.”

Virgil scoffed. “Since when do we follow laws in the Mindscape?”

“We don’t. But you know how Patton gets. Hit the dip. Linguistics. Contemporary Slang. Meaning: To run away from a scene or person as fast as you possibly can. Example: When she saw her ex at the party, she hit the dip. Subnote. No relation to consumable snack dip.”

Virgil groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. This was going nowhere. He thought at least with Logan as collaborator he could come up with some way to make the snake talk, but now he just felt more frustrated than ever.

“How can you expect me to accept it? This is  _ Deceit _ we’re talking about!”

“Blatherskite. Linguistics. Noun. Meaning: a person who talks at great length without making much sense. Example: Roman.” Logan kept his eyes glued to the holoscreen as he spoke, it’s glowing text reflecting blue light over his glasses. “While it’s true that Deceit’s conduct has been mostly antagonistic thus far, have you considered that our similar treatment towards him will only make that worse? If you’re asking for my input - which I assume you are, and not just using me as a sandwich board - I would begin my research by acknowledging the facts.”

“I think you mean sounding board. And which facts are those?”

Logan took a deep, weary breath, as if he were teaching a particularly dense class. “Deceit is here. He is a part of Thomas and he is not going away. Our ability to co-exist with him will be a key determinant in how we navigate Thomas’s affairs and well-being from here on out,”  he concluded, fingers continuing to type without pause.

Virgil choked like something bitter had just lodged in his throat. “ _ Co-exist? _ You make it sound like we should be  _ friends _ ,” he spat, kicking a metal support beam and immediately regretting it. His foot spasmed with pain.

Virgil knew he sounded like a child, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The side was up to something horrible, he could feel it in his bones.

Virgil dragged himself across the platform to drape his arms over the opposite railing. He gazed down over the expansive room, a high-tech catacomb humming with soft pulsations of energy and mental activity. Little concentrations of light darted throughout the infrastructure in webs of sharp angles, leaving trails of blue behind them. They were, according to Logan,  _ ‘the neuro-transmission of electrical signals between neurons,’ _ but Virgil thought they looked more like shooting stars, navigating an endless mechanical maze.

Even peering as hard as he could, it was impossible to see the ceiling, as it stretched beyond even Logan’s imagination. The walls, splayed with a gridwork of electrical panels, wiring, and infomatic screens, curved away out of sight in either direction. The enclosure was effectively one giant tower, with a cylinder of platforms, catwalks and rounding stairwells extending from the centre. Each floor was dedicated to a different mental function or data category, organized in a way only Logan could make sense of (the others had given up trying long ago, after Logan’s 500 page powerpoint had left the sides in near tears after only four slides). It was the database in which Logan kept every piece of information Thomas had ever learned, weather consciously or subconsciously. Unfortunately, to Logan’s constant chagrin, most of it ended up buried in the latter category before long.

_ ‘It’s a pity he forgets so much of it. Can you imagine how stream-lined Thomas’s reasoning and comprehensive problem-solving capacity would be, if I didn’t have to go digging things up and reminding him all the time? It’s not like this information is coming out of thin air. He’s far more intelligent than he gives himself credit for.’ _

To say it was Logan’s greatest love project would be an understatement. Though he’d never call it that, if you asked him.

Virgil sighed as he lost himself in the rhythm of pulsing lights. He loved coming here. The solid, methodical organization and structure of things… it made him feel secure, level-headed. Like anything he ever had to worry about could be solved with the right code or algorithm or sequence of information.

Sometimes he missed when the place looked like an ancient Roman library though, with its grand white columns and that old, starchy book smell. Virgil suspected Thomas’s enthusiasm for science fiction movies over the past year had made a slight impact on Logan’s decorating choices. All in all though, Virgil was in awe of the the new high-tech setup. Or as Logan liked to call it: ‘ _ The Knowledge Archive of Learning Management and Reasoning Support Database System. KALMRS-DS or KALM Chamber for short.’ _

“Help me to understand” Logan’s voice broke through Virgil’s thoughts, making him startle. He turned to see the other side finally looking at him, arms crossed over his chest as the holoscreen illuminated him from behind. His eyes looked tired. “Deceit has certainly been an issue for us, but you seem to have a particularly large grudge against him. Why is that?”

Virgil cringed, his eyes involuntarily breaking contact to stare at the floor. He was glad Logan couldn’t tell how fast his pulse had just escalated, the way his chest grew tight. 

How could he explain it? Where would he even begin to start? 

The beginning was…

Dark. Suffocatingly dark. And Deceit, a distant voice in that darkness, brought closer by mutual frustrations. A desperate need for consoling. Then came the hushed conspiring. The whispers. Before they had forms or names, Deceit was a constant presence, his thoughts persuading and resonating with Virgil’s when they were at their most unstable, inflaming them. The dark was all-consuming back then, so easy to lose himself in that echo-chamber of fear, with nothing to hold onto but the sound of those voices. Not just Deceit’s, but all of them.

It was easy to justify back then, with them all around him. But that was so long ago. Things were different then.  _ He _ was different then. How could he possibly explain to...

Virgil scrunched his eyes closed, before the sting could escalate into something worse.

Logan half-sighed, half hummed in the way he did when he was concerned but wanted to seem irritated. It reminded Virgil a little of Marge Simpson, though he would never say this out loud.

Dismissing his holoscreen with a wave, Logan came over to lean against the railing beside Virgil. “It’s fine if you don’t want to get into it,” he muttered, shifting awkwardly in the clear presence of feelings. “But to be honest, I think you might be inflating the issue. We can handle Deceit now that he’s here. We may not be able to keep him from influencing Thomas during our discussions, but at least we can keep a closer eye on him than before.”

Virgil shook off another wave of nerves. “Yeah, but now he’s closer to influencing  _ us. _ Don’t you remember how Deceit had worked on you guys? When he was still just a voice? He took advantage of you through the lies you told yourselves.”

Logan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I remember. It was especially difficult working with Roman and Patton when they were still in such denial of their faults. Thankfully I was immune to such manipulations.”

“Uh-” Virgil began, but then thought better of it. That was not a can of worms he knew how to open just now. “Anyway, it’s not just Deceit I’m worried about... It’s the Others too.”

Logan stiffened at that. He regarded Virgil carefully for a moment, his gaze calculating before he spoke in a quiet, even tone. “It’s been a very long time since we’ve heard the Others’ voices, one year and 87 days ago to be exact.”

“Yeah.”

“They disappeared almost instantly overnight.”

“Yeah, I know. It was… weird,” Virgil mumbled, chewing his bottom lip. “But whatever happened to them, they’re still down there. Deceit’s ties with them are still strong, so as long as we keep him locked away and separated from the rest of us, the Others won’t be able to influence us through him.”

“How do you mean?” asked Logan.

“You just… gotta trust me on this, all right? He might not be as dangerous now that we can see him, but he’s clever. We need to be careful.”

Logan’s expression hardened as he peered at Virgil, suddenly every inch the authoritative figure. Virgil resisted the urge to squirm under that look. “The Others,” he said carefully. “They can’t get back in, can they?”

“Well,” Virgil winced, “not tangibly. So long as Thomas isn’t aware of them, they’ll stay in the dark.”

“And their voices?”

Virgil swallowed, steeling himself to keep Logan’s gaze. It was hard for him to even say it aloud. “Deceit,” he breathed, “he could let them in.”

There was a long pause as Logan digested this information. 

It wasn’t something any of them talked about anymore, but even Logan couldn’t deny the severity of that statement. The voices of the Others had been a terrible ordeal for the household. Relentless in their nightly howlings, whispering and taunting, they had crept up on each of the sides when they were least expecting it, slipping into their heads like critical thoughts or subtle observations. Insecurities were played with like children’s toys, their voices more compelling and engrossing every day.

The period had only lasted a few months at most, but it was more than enough time for their sentiments to sink in. Even after they had disappeared, the effects of the haunting continued to fester. Virgil could still see them in quiet moments, when Roman would stop mid-sentence, seeming to forget a thought, or when Patton would let the tap water run over his hands a little too long. Logan appeared the least phased of all of them, but Virgil knew better. Logan wrote them off as distractions, schoolyard bullies just looking for attention, but Virgil knew there was one who’d touched him much, much deeper than that.

A hot stab of anger surfaced at the thought, making Virgil bite his lip a little too hard.

“Then we will have to ensure that doesn’t happen,” said Logan slowly, a hint of something hesitant passing his features before he could straighten it out. “I - better understand your concern now.” He brought his hands together and began massaging his palm, almost imperceptibly. His face was impassive but Virgil knew a nervous tick when he saw one. He had the sudden urge to take that hand and cup it in his own. To smooth the tension in those fingers and assure him that it would be okay. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. But for Logan-

Logan stood suddenly then, gesturing for Virgil to follow him back across the catwalk to the central stairwell.

_ Shit. No. Stop that,  _ he scolded himself.

Virgil shook the feeling away and pushed off from the railing. This wasn’t the time to start letting thoughts like that creep out. He sped to catch up with Logan as he ascended the stairs to a higher level, their footsteps echoing through the chamber. Approaching another control panel, he watched as Logan pulled open a new holoscreen labelled  _ Biology _ . Pushing his hair out of his face, he pulled a new entry window and began typing at an even speed. “Q uokka. Marsupial. Setonix brachyurus. Distribution: Western Australia. Description: a small, mouse-like macropod roughly the size of a domestic cat. Herbivorous and mainly nocturnal. Subnote: Unadvisable as a house pet, should Thomas press the issue.”

Virgil found a spot against the wall where he could sit and watch Logan work. To anyone else, the side would appear entirely normal, but Virgil could tell from the way his shoulders set tightly back, the strain working the muscles of his jaw and sloping down the lines of his neck, that he was on edge-- that he wasn’t  _ fine _ . It was the look of someone trying to contain something very strong in far too small a place.

Virgil knew that feeling well. So often, he was practically intimate with it. If only Logan would actually let him talk about it. He wanted so badly to say something, to help him make sense of all the thoughts and feelings and the messy, prickly things in between. But of course, Logan was Logan. He would rather jump off the platform railing than entertain the possibility of him and feelings sharing the same sentence.

“I’m not ignoring you, Virgil. I am putting serious thought to our predicament with Deceit.”

“I know.” Virgil smiled softly to himself. “You work best on a problem when you let it sit. Work on something else for a while.”

Virgil thought he saw the ghost of a smirk on Logan’s lips, before the side continued muttering more knowledge point entries.

Virgil sighed inwardly. Of all the things he had to worry about, at least he could rest assured that the Others would stay mostly away from Thomas. Even with Deceit playing a hand in Thomas’s denial of them, they remained hidden of their own volition. While of course they always had access to Thomas in some way, they preferred a more surreptitious approach - a subconscious, invisible persuasion of fears and desires and instincts that worked best when not looked at too closely. Logan called it primitive, but Virgil knew how effective it could be.

“Have you tried just  _ asking _ him about his plans?” said Logan, side-eyeing him.

Virgil snorted. “Of course. I’ve been trying that all week. He assured me he had nothing up his sleeve. As if that means anything.”

“Yes, I doubt the possessions he keeps on his garment would tell us very much. Unless he were concealing a very small shovel with which to dig an escape tunnel…”

“Uh. no, he means-” 

“Knock knock!” a voice echoed from below. There was only one side who enjoyed verbalizing a knock instead of actually doing so.

“We’re up here, Patton!” called Logan, without pausing his typing. He glanced at Virgil, before saying in a much quieter voice, “perhaps we should keep this conversation to ourselves for now. I don’t believe we need to worry Patton preemptively.”

Virgil nodded solemnly. He knew what Logan meant. The side was especially sensitive when it came to the Others.

Virgil got up to peer over the railing. Patton’s form in the doorway below was silhouetted by bright, yellow light. The warm glow spilling out from Logan’s bedroom was a stark contrast to the cold gloom of the KALM Chamber.

Patton’s steps on the stairwell preceded his arrival, sending metallic echoes into the Mindscape. He stepped onto the platform with a wide grin and two mugs clenched in either hand.

“Thought you two might want a pick-me-up. Caught the beans myself!” Patton handed each of them a mug, Logan’s filled with black coffee and Virgil’s a semi-sweet hot chocolate. One marshmallow. 

Virgil accepted his with a nod. “Thanks Patt. What’re you up to?” he asked quietly, sipping the warm, frothy drink. It felt good going down.

“Oh, you know, just this and that,” said Patton cheerfully. “I finished darning the holes in those pumpkin socks of yours. I left them on the coffee table in the living room.”

“Oh, cool. Thanks.”

“And Logan, I fixed the leg of that book shelf in your room! It shouldn’t wobble anymore.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you Patton. I don’t recall asking you to fix that,” said Logan, taking a large sip of coffee.

“Well, you know me, I’m a shelf-shtarter.”

Virgil smirked as Logan choked.

“Anyway, it was my pleasure,” said Patton more softly. His smile tightened as he twisted the sleeves of his cardigan. The side looked hesitant.

“Is everything okay, Patt?” Virgil asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah! Yeah for sure,” Patton started, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I just... Well, I was thinking I’d like to bring something up with you.”

Virgil paused. “You know you can always talk to me,” he said slowly.

“Yeah. Of course!” Patton nodded, chewing his lip a moment before speaking. “Well, to be honest, I’ve been a little worried… about Thomas.”

Virgil wondered if the side had overheard their conversation after all, as he shot Logan a furtive glance. The other was listening attentively. 

“About what, exactly?” asked Logan.

“Well,” Patton took a deep breath, shuffling his feet. 

Virgil held his breath.

Patton’s next words bubbled out all at once in fast, emphatic bursts. “It’s just that - I couldn’t help but notice the last few times Thomas’s  _ friends _ have come over, he hasn’t been all that attentive with his  _ hosting _ responsibilities. Specifically with sharing his  _ food.  _ Even though we all know perfectly well how many hot pockets and pop-tarts our little T-star’s got squirrelled away, specifically bought with the intent of  _ sharing  _ for just such occasions! It just isn’t  _ right!” _

For a solid moment, Virgil only blinked. And then nearly laughed in relief as he realized this wasn’t about Deceit. “Oh,” was what he finally managed.

“Not good to let that kind of behaviour continue, eh?”

Virgil chased the marshmallow in his mug down with a finger. “Um. Yeah, I suppose he could be more generous with his snacks. What’s this got to do with me though?”

“ _ Well, _ for all the times I remind him, give him the ol’ nudge-a-roo, he still  _ conveniently _ forgets. Maybe you can me lend a hand?”

Virgil smirked at the half-veiled accusation. If they’d learned anything recently, it was that Thomas wasn’t exactly guilt free of convenient memory loss. “I mean, I get what you’re saying Patton, totally fair. But I don’t know if Thomas’s snack hoarding tendencies really falls in my territory.”

“No?” Patton’s face scrunched like he’d just chewed something sour. “Does it not make sense to be anxious that his friends aren’t fed? That they might be hungry? Are these not valid concerns?”

“I mean… it’s a concern, yeah, but, I think Thomas already has enough to be genuinely  _ anxious  _ about without me throwing more on the pile.”

Patton’s smile faded, his voice taking on a sudden gravity. “What kind of person do you want Thomas to be, Virgil? Do you not care? What if it starts with this and then before you know it he won’t be considering his friends at all? Will that be a worthy cause of anxiety then?”

Virgil jumped at the sudden shift, throwing his hands up. “Woah, woah, okay!”

Logan stepped forward immediately, holding up a finger. “Now hold on, Patton. There’s no need to inflate things. I’m sure Thomas’s behaviour is just a matter of mindfulness.”

Patton stood very still as he stared at Virgil, his expression oddly cold and far away. A long moment passed, before the side melted into a burst of giggles. “Oops, sorry kiddo!” He shoved his hands back in his pockets. “Guess I got a little caught up there!”

Virgil shared another look with Logan.

“Didn’t mean to rattle the cage, just thought a tiger like you would make a better impression than a house cat like me!” he chuckled.

Both Virgil and Logan’s shoulders visibly relaxed, though Logan continued stiffly, “Virgil is already providing an adequate level of influence on Thomas. Asking him to increase his anxiety with decisively more-”

“No, Logan, it’s fine. He’s right,” Virgil sighed, massaging the creases between his eyes. “His friends are important. I’ll make a point of pushing Thomas a little more next time.” Virgil cringed slightly as Logan frowned back at him, affronted. “Sorry, Patton,” he said, though he was looking at Logan.

Patton’s face blossomed into a magnificent smile then, making it very hard for Virgil not to smile back, even as something twisted a little oddly in his gut. Logan put a hand on his hip like he wanted to argue, but instead took another long sip of coffee. Virgil watched as the side turned squarely back to the holoscreen and continued typing his notes, effectively ignoring the two of them.

Patton huffed, shaking his head and turning away with a wave. As he began his descent down the metal stairwell, he called back. “Thanks, kiddo! I’m really so proud of you.”

  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  


The kitchen was entirely silent. Long shadows sunk across the walls and furniture, sharpening certain edges while softening others. The space which hosted so much life and energy in the day was now suspended in a deep gloom, the lights all extinguished apart from a single rectangle emanating from the open fridge.

Patton sat crossed legged and barefoot on the hard linoleum. The cold breeze from the fridge sent goosebumps along his neck and arms, making him shudder occasionally. He kept scrubbing anyway, plunging the soapy rag into the farthest nooks, around jars of sauerkraut and half-finished tupperwares of pasta. He had the layout perfectly memorised, organized in a way that was more partial to taste than logic. Favourite ingredients to the front, less-used to the back, expiry dates be darned. There wasn’t a speck of dust or onion peel or drop of sauce to be found.

Patton continued to scrub.

He didn’t so much think, as he did witness the soft thoughts and images as they formed in his mind’s eye. Logan, hunched over his desk and dragging his pen along the edge of an endless ruler. His glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. They’re about to fall, but he hasn’t noticed. The strum of Roman’s ukulele strings drifting through the walls between their rooms, at first full and warm, like the air at a summer festival, but then a mistake, followed by silence. Virgil is on the floor, hand rooting under the bed for something just out of reach, lost between the cracks. He reaches deeper, deeper.

Patton watches. And he scrubs.

He scrubs and scrubs as the images cycle through each other, blending and liquifying before reforming once again.

_ Help them. _

Patton reaches out for a jar of jam, but it shivers into a pair of glasses. Delicately, he pushes them back over Logan’s face, safely tucked behind his ears.

Logan says nothing, still deeply focused in his work. Patton cups the side of his face, but it feels hot to the touch, almost burning. Sweat beads down his forehead and into his eyes. The glasses melt down his cheeks and Patton is holding Roman’s face. The side is humming a sequence of notes, but they’re sporadic and tuneless. He shuts his eyes, his humming almost frenzied as he tries to break out of Patton’s grip. Patton holds tighter. He brings Roman’s head to his shoulder, and Patton hums back to him in a single, rhythmic sound. Eventually, Roman grows silent. He leans deeper into Patton, sinking into him completely until all but a hand still protrudes from his chest. Virgil’s hand. It reaches out, searching for something he can’t see. 

_ Help me. _

Patton reaches his own arm out, hovering over Virgil’s. _ I want to, but you’re reaching the wrong way.  _

_ But I don’t know the way. _

Patton watches as Virgil’s arm fades into his own shadow.

_ Don’t you? _

Patton grips the slippery rag between his fingers, squinting in the fridge light.

_ I thought I did, but now… I’m not so sure. _

_ I thought father’s knew everything.  _

Patton continues to scrub.

_ How disappointing. And to think, all this time they’ve been counting on you. _

He pulls his hand back, dipping the cold cloth in the bowl of suddy water by his side. He plunges it back into the depths of the fridge and scrubs.

_ I’m doing everything I can. _

_ And yet they’re getting worse. Haven’t you noticed? You’re negligence is already having consequences. _

_ I should do more. I should talk to them. _

_ And say what? What do you think will happen when they realize daddy is just a scared child playing dress up? _

Patton scrapes the smooth surface harder, faster.

_ You’re losing your grip. _

_ I know. _

_ They’re already whispering. Hiding things from you. _

_ I know. _

_ Pathetic. _

_ I-- _

“Patton?”

Patton felt his body jerk away, lungs gasping for air as if he were just sucked out of a long, dark tunnel. The light was suddenly too harsh, stinging his eyes. He squeezed them shut, feeling something warm and solid on his back.

“Patton, what are you doing down here? It’s 3am.”

Turning towards the voice, Patton blurrily took in its owner’s face. Logan was hovering over him, the kitchen and living room coming into focus behind him.

“I-” Patton blinked.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can-- you’re shaking.” Logan pulled Patton up by the shoulders, reaching out for his hands. They were pruned and angry pink in the fridge light. 

Patton stared blankly down at them. And then began to laugh.

“That’s funny. I don’t - I’m not sure what…”

“Patton.” 

When Patton looked up, the expression on Logan’s face was sharper than a paring knife. Deep shadows hung under his eyes as his brows furrowed tightly together. 

He was worried, Patton realized. About _ him. _

Patton stared for a long moment, until his lip quirked into a relaxed, lopsided grin. “I’m fine, kiddo.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot stew thickens... or something like that. Sorry for the slow update, was wrestling with a mean bout of writer's block and his cousin lethargy this week. Thanks again for your awesome comments, they keep me working on this thing <3
> 
> Oh and if you don't know what a Quokka is, I highly suggest a quick image search. You won't be disappointed.


	5. In Which Having a Body Can Be Troublesome

 

 

 

 

The house was full of liars.

This was hardly new information. Deceit had caught each of the sides fibbing on a near daily basis. It was easy when you picked up on the mumbling, blushing, sweating, lip-pursing, blinking, fidgeting and general aversion to eye contact.

It was only that now, he didn’t just see it. He could _feel_ it.

Even contained in his room, Deceit could sense their disturbance through the walls, faint and delicate, like a vibration along a spider’s web. The sides, moving about their domestic circles, concealing from one another, and even more so from themselves. It wasn’t a particularly good or bad sensation in itself, only that each pulse of deception brought him to sudden alertness, his body twitching to respond. It was unsettling, being so aware of the other sides.

Removing his left glove, Deceit raised the hand and held it in front of his face, inspecting its shape as he bent and extended each digit. A real hand. _His_ hand. The concept still felt alien to him. Not to mention all the sensations that came with it.

Of all the discoveries, heat was especially pleasant. Small things were best, like the steam from a fresh cup of coffee, or the morning sun through the window.

Or the curve of a warm shoulder.

Deceit closed his eyes, shaking the memory away.

Most importantly though, this body meant that he was now in the Light, in the flesh and exposed. He couldn’t rely on being a faceless voice in the Dark anymore. Thomas knew he was here, and he was getting better and better at recognizing his disguises. Deceit had no choice but to take a more direct approach now.

Which was, annoyingly, the truth.

Deceit huffed. The method had proved more difficult in execution than theory.

The courtroom swam through his vision like a half-formed nightmare, along with Thomas, cowering on the stand like some hapless child caught in a custody battle.

Exposing Thomas for a liar should have been devastating. So completely earth shattering that he’d have no choice but to listen to Deceit. But when Roman made his verdict, even the truth wasn’t enough. Even after unmasking that bumbling excuse of a father-figure and stripping him of his precious moral facade, Deceit had _still_ failed. By the end, he’d practically _begged_ Thomas to see it. That the power to succeed was right in his hands, has _always_ been in his hands.

But he still refused to listen.

Because it was Deceit.

Deceit brought his hand to his cheek, feeling the smooth scales under his fingertips.

The Light didn’t suit him. Even when he told the truth, nobody damn well listened.

Well, _almost_ nobody.

The memory of the prince, curled up and weeping on his bed, pushed to the front of his mind.

Deceit groaned, turning onto his stomach and burying his face between his arms.

Roman was... an odd exception.

The side had caught him off guard, visiting him like that. Babbling about quiche and nonsense, his body language ripe with deception. Forcing Roman to see past his own delusions wasn’t part of the plan. It didn’t serve any purpose. But Deceit had been angry, frustrated by the outcome of that ridiculous court case.

He thought it would feel good. Stripping the prince of his shiny veneer and shoving his face in it. Make him see how pathetic he really was under all that half-baked bravado. And it had worked, too. For a moment, hearing Roman admit the truth had been incredibly, deliciously satisfying.

And then, strangely, it wasn’t.

Deceit sighed, turning onto his back again.

The part he’d been looking forward to the most had actually been rather… awkward. Instead of feeling liberated, Deceit had just felt tired and deflated. As if he’d been the one crying. Hell, he even ended up _comforting_ the damn fool.

Deceit cringed, his lips curling into a low hiss.

This household was doing things to him. His head, his body. He had to hold it together. There were still plenty more ways to --

A knock came from the door.

Deceit sat up suddenly, a jolt of adrenal tensing his limbs all at once, preparing for intrusion.

Another, softer knock followed, and he quickly uncoiled himself. Leaning back on the bed, he steeled his face into something impassive, willing his heartbeat to do the same.

“Come in,” he said after a long pause, adding a hint of boredom for effect. “While I applaud your tenacity Virgil, four interrogations in one week is a little-- oh.” Deceit’s smile faltered as his visitor edged into the room. “Roman,” he adjusted, then slid out a new grin. “How nice of you to drop by. Again.”

Roman’s gaze darted around the room, as if expecting some kind of temple trap from an Indiana Jones movie, before finally resting it on Deceit. The side semed both spooked and angry.

Deceit waited for Roman to begin. The side only continued to glare, his shoulders set in a tense line.

“Where are my manners. Would you care for a seat?” Deceit motioned to the chair by his desk. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m quite new to this whole hosting thing.”

Roman didn’t budge. It was becoming a bit unsettling. Deceit maintained his relaxed position.

“Roman, if you came here just to stare at me like some kind of zoo exhibit, I’ll have to start charging a-”

_“Did you mean it?”_

Deceit flinched at Roman’s outburst, then cursed inwardly for doing so. “Did I mean--?”

“Everything! All of it!” Roman growled, hands clenched into fists by his side. Deceit realized the side’s clothes and hair were more dishevelled than usual, practically unkempt. As if he’d been sleeping in them, or simply hadn’t slept at all. “All I meant to do was bring you some food so I would feel a little less like a shitty person, and then-- and then!” Roman started to pace, and then stopped, as if unsure what to do with himself. “You say so many things, so many damn awful things and they all seem so real and true and yet so messed up and now I don’t even know what’s up or down anymore!”

_Oh. All right. We’re doing this, then._

“Roman, I--”

“I know I’m not always the smartest side. I know I can be gullible and foolish and easily swayed by flattery, but damnit! You’re-- you’re _Deceit!_ Even I should know better than this! Listening to you go on about all that stuff. About hurting Thomas and myself. About being more selfish!”

“Do you think I--”

“And I want to believe it, I do!”

“Well why _don’t_ you?” snapped Deceit, sitting up. His shock was subsiding into irritation now.

Roman shuddered, unable to hold still but also unwilling to move.

“ _Because_ ,” he grit out, “because I-- as much as what you said feels right, I just--”

“You just _what,_ Roman?”

“I just can’t trust you!” Roman wailed, crest falling.

Deceit swallowed, blinking. He brought his hands slowly into his lap.

_Right._

Deceit smirked to himself. It’s not like this was anything new.

Deceit levelled Roman with a look that was as cold as it was sharp. “Oh my _dear,_ sweet prince. Still aiming your pointy bits in the wrong direction. It seems the issue is not so much whether you trust _me,_ as it is whether you trust _yourself._ ”

Roman took an incremental step back, scoffing. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, _I don’t know_ , maybe…” Deceit threw his hands in the air, gesturing around them, “the fact that you’re standing here, in my room? Why come to me? Why not explore the issue with one of your more _honest_ companions?”

“I--”

“I’ll tell you,” Deceit cut him off, standing up from the bed. “It’s because you know, deep down, that what _I’ve_ finally put in words is closer to the truth than anything they ever have. But you won’t believe it, on account of who you think I am. Or at least, who you think I should be.”

Roman balked. “That’s ridiculous.”

“You think I don’t know what being the scapegoat feels like? Trust me, it’s a tiresome role. Though I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that, being such a _perfect prince_ ,” Deceit rolled his eyes, venom dripping off every word.

“I never said I was perfect,” Roman growled, stepping forward.

“No, but you love to act it. Love to slink away from those faults of yours, don’t you? Pretend they’re not yours. Can’t let the poster-boy image slip, can we?”

“Stop it!” The prince’s hands were shaking.

“Why?” Deceit snarled, leaning into Roman’s face. “If I’ve learned anything about you, Roman, it’s that the angrier you get, the more the _real_ you comes out! That lost little child still crying out for attention! Pretending he’s so much _better_ than everyone else while acting like a complete--”

Roman’s fist connected squarely with the side of Deceit’s face, sending him stumbling over the edge of the bed. His side caught the corner of the frame on his way down, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs as he tumbled to the floor.

Everything blurred as Deceit lay gasping on the ground, his face pressed to the hardwood floor. He heard Roman step behind him, then stop.

For once, no thoughts pervaded Deceit’s mind. Just sensation. The hardness of the floor. The soft fabric of his clothes. His heartbeat. And hot white pain, shooting through his face and abdomen.

After a very long silence, Deceit let out a single groan. Placing one hand at a time onto the floor, he carefully pushed himself into a sitting position.

The prince was staring down at him, his face frozen in shock as if the blow had been a surprise to him too.

“That’s… the first time I’ve ever been punched,” said Deceit quietly. The cheek on his human side throbbed again, the skin hot when he brought his fingertips to it.

Roman swallowed, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

Deceit looked down at his side, pulling his shirt up part way. An angry, red patch flared just below his second rib.

“Oh,” was all he could say.

Roman took another step forward. “I-I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t lie.”

“You were just saying all this awful stuff and I--”

“I know.”

“--didn’t know how to respond it just built up and I panicked but--”

“Roman, _I know_.”

“--but you’re right!”

Deceit dropped the fabric, snapping his gaze up to meet Roman’s once more. The side’s eyes were glossing again, even as his voice was steady. “I thought maybe… I could use you as an excuse… I was desperate.”

With very slow movements, Roman came to sit down on the floor opposite Deceit, the floorboards creaking as he did. He shook his head back and forth. “It’s all so much to take in. These things about myself. I hate them so much. Facing them head on, for the first time, it was so painful I--” He took a shaky breath. “I needed you to be wrong,” he choked out.

The pain in Deceit’s side and cheek flared so deeply with each pulse, he swore he could hear his heart beating in tandem.

“I’m sorry,” said Roman.

Deceit blinked.

From the moment Roman entered his room, Deceit had already predicted a series of possible occurrences that might take place and how he might respond to them, staying one step ahead at all times. An apology was not one of them.

Deceit regarded Roman carefully. How this idiot kept managing to surprise him was a mystery in itself.

He took a long, deep breath, exhaling into a sigh. The prince looked so pathetic, sitting there like a kid who’s icecream just hit pavement.

“I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later” he started cautiously. “In all honesty, it was pretty disappointing, for a first.” He smirked, rubbing his cheek. “You’ve got a horrible swing, Your Highness.”

Roman stared hard at Deceit, as if trying to work out a particularly difficult puzzle. “You’re lying,” he tried meekly.

Deceit only raised his brows in answer.

A beat passed between the sides then, before a shy and toothy grin formed on Roman’s face.

  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
  


After that, it wasn’t long before Roman’s visits became a regular occurrence.

At first, Roman had simply dropped in to deliver meals. This very quickly expanded to snacks, coffee, smoothies and various desserts, including a loaf of half burnt banana bread with a note reading ‘ _I’m sorry for punching you. Even though you were being an asshole,’_ and then in smaller letters below that, ‘ _Sorry for calling you an asshole.’_

At this point, their conversations were kept short and courteous, with a few light observations on Thomas’s day or the state of Florida’s weather (still hot), before Roman awkwardly excused himself. By the end of the week though, Roman began appearing at Deceit’s door, noticeably more empty-handed but with considerably more pertinent discussion points. At least, considerably more pertinent to Roman. This included such range of topics as coming auditions or a particularly stubborn melody he was working on. Or even just something rude another side had said that day.

Each time, Deceit would say _how nice_ it was to see him, and that, of course, _it was no bother at all. No please, do have a seat_ \-- with the back-minded knowledge that he was lying.

The prince was, in fact, incredibly irritating.

When he wasn’t providing gratuitous room service during the day, Roman was now visiting late in the night, when the household was quiet and the others were mostly occupied in their own rooms. This wasn’t so much a problem, as was his annoying habit of knocking only once before flinging himself nervously into the room, as if he were a child sneaking ice-cream from the fridge. Deceit found himself jumping every time, the intrusion often catching him at times of deep concentration. Sometimes when he was observing Thomas or thinking to himself, others when he was working on his crafts.

Roman would always burst in, causing Deceit to slip his hand on a stitch, or drop something, or jump like some spooked rabbit. Roman of course would always fail to notice, already halfway into his monologue by the time Deceit was getting his pulse under control.

Once an audience had been secured, the side was nearly unstoppable. A one-man show that introduced and carried itself.

In fact, Deceit found his involvement was hardly needed. Offering the occasional nod or ‘I see’ was sufficient as the prince crooned without need of pause or, apparently, breath.

Funnily enough though, Deceit did pay attention. He listened raptly to every observation, every theory and complaint. Frivolous as it all was, it was something to listen to. Something to stave off the boredom and the cyclical rhythm of his own thoughts. And from the quiet of his room. Which was strange, because he didn’t used to _mind_ the quiet. Or the darkness. But now, it was as if he’d grown acutely aware of the empty space around him, when the sensations of sight and sound and taste were lacking. When something was _missing._

And Roman, with all the sensational gusto of a parade, was rapidly and determinedly filling those spaces.

Almost overwhelmingly so.

But then, the quiche _had_ been pretty good. And Roman’s singing, though painfully show tunes-y at times, was admittedly catchy. There were times Roman even managed to pull a half-smile out of Deceit. And then, even more rarely, a huff that some might consider a laugh but most certainly wasn’t. This mostly happened when Deceit was preoccupied, his mind calm as he half-listened, half tinkered away at his desk. Roman was happy to watch the progress while providing his endless commentary. Disruptive as it was, one might even call the strange and increasingly habitual evenings _comfortable._

Which was perhaps why Deceit was only partly surprised to find that tonight, when he offered Roman his usual greeting, he was telling the truth.

“And it’s not like Logan is intentionally cramping my style, but calling me out in front of Thomas like that was entirely unnecessary. What would _Logic_ know about flirting with cute pizza delivery boys anyway? Inviting the guy in for dinner was an ace move, particularly seeing that he’d brought the meal himself.”

“Please, have a seat,” offered Deceit, though Roman had already flopped himself down on the end of his bed, arms gesturing wildly.

“Even if the guy hadn’t looked at Thomas like he was some psychotic serial killer, you had to admit Thomas’s delivery was smooth as hell.”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Deceit, picking up the brush he’d dropped after Roman’s latest entrance.

“And if that wasn’t a big enough gesture, the ginormous tip I made Thomas leave certainly was. He’ll be back for sure.”

“Mhmm.”

The glue on the mirror pieces were still drying, so Deceit busied himself with a layer of white stripes. He dipped the brush once, wiping off the excess and gliding the tip carefully along the lines he’d drawn over the box’s interior black surface.

It was a calming exercise, requiring just enough mental focus to keep the lines clean while still leaving room for Roman’s report. He let himself to ease back into it.

The box was coming along nicely, almost identical to the book diagram he was working off of. The pages were splattered with glue and paint, while the desk as a whole lay crowded with the makings of his many works-in-progress. An assortment of fabrics, wires, locks, picks, hammers, nails, paints and more than a few imitation animals surrounded his current engagement-- a two foot tall, felt-covered box.

Deceit dipped his brush again.

The stripes would take at least a few layers before they were vivid enough, contrasting against the black. It was all about the binary, Deceit knew. Presenting reality as an extreme of two forces, two absolutes, while quietly hiding the truth within the cracks, the grays that no one expected or bothered to look for. That’s where the trick came in. It wasn’t just the technicalities of a trap door or a lock pick, but the crafting of _expectation_ . Start with a simple base reality, present the ‘facts’ as rigid and unmoving, and then do your real work in the space in between, the messy half-truths and half-lies that made the actual whole. People loved the comfort of simple black and white. Which is why they were always, _always_ so easily tricked.

“Deceit?”

Deceit nearly jumped as the hand on his shoulder brought him abruptly back to the present.

“Roman! What?” he snapped, whipping his head round to see the side hovering behind him. The prince was peering down at his desk, alternating between the book and the box.

“You weren’t answering me, so I thought I’d see what-- what _is this_ , anyway?”

Deceit let out a long sigh, shrugging Roman’s hand away and putting his brush safely down in a cup. He supposed he did still zone out, on occasion.

“It’s a magic box,” he said simply.

Roman squatted down next to Deceit to get a closer look, appraising it as one might a potentially explosive artifact. “What’s it do?”

“It conceals things,” explained Deceit patiently. “Or it will, at least, once I’ve equipped it with these mirrors. He carefully lifted the flat, square piece so Roman could see the reflection on both sides.

Roman snorted. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a hobbyist.”

“And what _would_ you have taken me for? Someone who stares into space and does nothing all day?”

“Well, I did imagine a bit more scheming and wallowing in some creepy, underground lair.”

“That’s absurd, I’m not Dr. Doom, Roman. I’m a side, as much as you are.”

“I know,” Roman huffed. “It’s just, with how dramatic and _mysterious_ you’ve been,” he wiggled his fingers ominously at the word mysterious, “it’s sort of odd seeing you do normal things. I mean, as normal as _this,_ anyway _,”_ he gestured to the messy work pile.

Deceit huffed one of his laughs that definitely wasn’t a laugh. “As someone who spends entire evenings making paper cranes out of tea doilies, I wouldn’t make comments on _normal,_ Roman. But I get what you mean.” Deceit crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back into his chair. “It’s not as if illusions and magic are new interests for me, I’m practically cut from the same cloth.” He held up a gloved hand, inspecting it. “Though having since developed a body, and now a room to inhabit... it’s like I’ve discovered an entirely new way to appreciate it. Of course, I realize that we can summon anything we like, and I’ve certainly done so already, but the labour-- the actual _process_ of building an object of deception is- is…”

“Exhilarating?”

Deceit paused to consider Roman. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“And yet incredibly soothing?”

“...yes.”

The prince’s lip twitched in the way it did before a full blown smirk was about to appear. And it did.

“Like you’re engrossed in the flow of fulfilling your purpose on a deeply, foundational level?”

“Stop that.”

Roman let the smirk billow out into a wide, radiant grin.

“Don’t worry, it’s very normal. Logan’s been working on it. He thinks it has something to do with why we formed bodies in the first place. And why we exist like this.”

“What do you mean?” asked Deceit, peering down at Roman. He was on his human side.

Roman shifted his weight, thinking. “You know how you keep reminding me that we don’t need food?”

“Yes, and yet you still stubbornly present me with it every day.”

“Well, there’s a reason we eat,” Roman explained. “Or bathe, or sleep, or cook, or watch movies together on the couch. Even though we don’t have to. It’s the same reason you feel drawn to work on these projects.”

Deceit rolled his eyes. He felt something sickly and sweet on the horizon.

“It’s about connection.”

And there it was.

“We’re all connected to Thomas, but we’re also connected to each other. Doing all these things helps us, ah-- empathize in a more human way. We can practice and understand how life works by exploring it in our own unique ways.” Roman’s eyes sparkled in a way that made Deceit want to roll his eyes back into his head. “Trust me, I didn’t get it at first either, but discovering our own interests, practicing our skills- it makes us more different, but also more the same, and more able to help Thomas, from experience.”

Deceit sighed. “That’s all very nice, in theory, but if you ask me, these _activities_ are just distractions from the real focus. How are you supposed to guide Thomas in the real world when your busy stuffing your face with metaphysical oatmeal? This?” he swept his arms over the desk. “This is lovely- it passes the time but it’s just fantasy. It’s playing house.”

Roman stood then, turning to lean against the desk and looked down at Deceit. “Is it?”

“It is. Watch your ass on the paint.”

Roman chuckled. “I think you’ll find a little more time here might change your mind,” he grinned again. “You’re still pretty fresh, after all.”

“And you’re not condescending at _all,”_  Deceit sneered, pushing Roman’s hip off the desk. The motion sent a twinge of pain to his side, making Deceit recoil with a hiss.

“Woah! Are you okay?” Roman leaned back in, his face overly close.

“I’m fine,” snapped Deceit, his hand impulsively betraying the source by moving to his rib. The cheek had healed up fairly fast, but his side was still stubbornly sore.

“Oh,” said Roman lamely, realizing. He knelt down again, reaching out a tentative hand. “May I?” he asked?

“May you what?”

“May I see it?”

Deceit blinked, caught off guard by the question. And the strange way Roman was now staring at him. _No. Absolutely not,_ was what he wanted to say. He swallowed. “If you want,” was what he actually said.

With surprising gentleness, Roman carefully lifted the fabric of Deceit’s shirt, exposing his side. The skin was purple and bruised now, with a sickly yellow tinge outlining the palm sized area.

“Oh... shit. I’m so sor--”

“You’ve already apologized five times this week, Roman. You don’t need to say it again,” Deceit rolled his eyes. “It looks worse than it is. I’m sure a few more days and it’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman said anyway, then winced. “I’ve just never done that before, to another side. It was so stupid of me.”

Deceit snorted. “We can agree on that.”

Roman had a distant look on his face, his brows knit closely together. Deceit was about to chide him further, but something about the prince’s expression made him hesitate.

“We’ve got into some pretty bad fights, the sides and I,” Roman began, his voice strangely quiet. “When we were trying to help Thomas. I think it hurts him. I know it does. I mean, I know what it feels like, having one part of yourself lashing against the other.” He took a slow breath. “Like this.”

Deceit snorted. “Well goody there, at least now our experience means we’re _connected_.” Deceit threw the word back at Roman as an insult, but the side only continued to stare at the bruise, brushing his fingers gently over the slope of Deceit’s ribs. Slowly, he brought them down further, where a few trace scales extended from the curve of his stomach, disappearing down the line of his hip. Deceit shivered.

“That’s enough, you’ve made your point,” snapped Deceit, yanking his shirt down.

Roman flinched, as if coming back to himself.

Deceit cleared his throat, pushing his chair back and standing to clear up the paints. Roman just watched him, half seated on the floor. Deceit pretended like it didn’t phase him, having the prince burning holes into his back, thinking god knows what.

“Speaking of fights,” said Deceit casually, shifting the focus off himself. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about your current issue? With the other sides, I mean.”

Roman let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know,” he moaned, scootching back on the floor until he was leaning against the frame of Deceit’s bed. Deceit stepped over Roman’s legs as he moved around the desk. “Everyone’s so busy. And Patton’s been even more gung-ho about Thomas’s friends than before. I don’t really know how to bring it up,” he shrugged.

Deceit paused his tidying to regard the prince for a moment. “You could start by just doing what you want. Why wait for the other’s permission?”

Roman’s face scrunched up. “Thomas won’t do what I say. He listens to everyone. If I suggest something too _selfish_ ,” he emphasized with finger quotations, “the others will just shut me down. Like they always do.”

Deceit grimaced. _Hell if that ain’t the truth._

“Perhaps they just need the right incentive,” he suggested.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Bribes? Threats? Blackmail? You tell me. You’re the creative one.”

Roman let out a long, guttural moan, letting his head fall back on the mattress. “Tempting, my slithery friend, but I am a prince of honour. If I am to reach Thomas’s dreams, I must do so upon the noble path.”

Deceit snorted, wiping the paint off his hands with a wet cloth. “Nobility is an outdated construct made to validate aristocratic ideals and classist segregation. But sure, go on.”

Roman’s head snapped up. “Excuse me, but are you saying that _royalty_ is outdated?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Deceit cooed, trying not to smirk at Roman’s indignant expression. “A royal bachelor like you will always be in style. But ye olde values? Not so much.”

Roman made a choked sound, as if his entire being was affronted. “I accept the compliment. But I disagree. As a knight, I swore a solemn oath to uphold the virtues of bravery, loyalty and chivalry-- are these not cherished qualities of our modern age?”

“People find the last one a little sexist, actually. But anyway, back to the issue. If you can’t convince them head on and you won’t use… alternative means, how do you plan on moving forward?”

There was a long, deliberating pause. Deceit let the prince stew while he wiped the paint and debris from his desk.

“Ugh! _I don’t know,_ Dee. I’m stuck.” There was a soft plop as Roman’s head fell back again. “Maybe I should just let it go.”

Deceit halted mid-wipe. _That won’t do_ , he thought, tossing the cloth aside and moving instead to sit on the bed beside Roman. He leaned down on his knees so he was level with the prince.

“Roman, you need to make them see how vital you are.”

Roman’s eyes fluttered open. His head turned toward Deceit.

“Your needs are just as valid as theirs. Nobody else can harness Thomas’s desires and turn them into creation like you can. And that makes you important.”

Roman didn’t respond at first, only staring in mild surprise. Then something clicked behind his eyes, and he looked away with a half-smile, almost shyly. Deceit found the reaction startling, and had to look down as he continued hurriedly, “I mean, what you’re doing is important for Thomas. You’re his self-worth. You can’t just give up.”

A real smile gradually made its way to Roman’s lips, though his face remained soft. He was still looking away, and Deceit had the strange impulse to take his cheek in hand and make the prince look at him again.

“You’re right!” Roman proclaimed suddenly, making Deceit start. “I need to do this. For Thomas!” Roman flashed Deceit a grin brighter than a Christmas tree. “I mean, without me he’d basically be losing his sense of self, right?”

Deceit blinked again, reeling in multiple thoughts that were clamouring for his attention. He landed on the one that didn’t involve inexplicable urges to touch Roman’s face.

“That’s... actually not a bad idea, Roman.”

The side paused. “What’s not?”

“Without you,” Deceit began, resting his chin in his hand. “Maybe instead of leaning in, you should try leaning out. Make them realize what happens when you leave the equation.”

Roman frowned, gears audibly whirring in his head. “You mean like... disappear for a bit?”

“Oh no, not completely,” Deceit amended. “I mean just not participating, even less than you have so far.”

Roman chewed his lip. “Do you think they’d even notice?”

Now it was Deceit’s turn to smile. “Oh, they will. Trust me, there’s only so long Thomas’s desires can be kept on the back burner before they bubble over.”

“I don’t want to make a mess but…” Roman scrunched his face up. “I suppose it _did_ work for Virgil. Him leaving made us see how much Thomas needed him.”

“Really now?” Deceit cocked an eyebrow. “How interesting.”

“Yeah...” Roman paused. “Yeah! Okay, I can do this!” The side jumped off from the ground, whirling and posing once again with his usual gusto. “The brazen lion, quiet as a mouse! The howling storm, turned soft as a breeze! I’ll let them play out their scenes with Thomas. But when the final act falls, and they turn to find the Primmadonna missing from the wings,” Roman paused for effect, “they’ll not only see my worth, they’ll realize that I am truly the heart of the show! They’ll be _begging_ me to come back! Deceit, you're a _genius!_ ” He finished the grand scenario with a final, sweeping flourish.

Deceit leaned back on the bed, taking in Roman's display. Unsure whether to be amused, flattered or impressed by the prince’s light-speed recovery, Deceit decided it best just to applaud.

  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  


Deceit hummed softly to himself as he worked, setting the mirrored panel gently into place with adhesive. The words of the tune were lost to him. Something Roman had been singing earlier that week. The upbeat ditty had somehow coiled its way into his mind when he wasn’t paying attention, and now it insisted on his attention.

 _Just like the side himself_ , thought Deceit absently.

With almost nightly visitations now, Deceit had grown used to the other’s company. So much that the nights when Roman didn’t appear felt strangely empty. He wasn’t _bored,_ per se. Keeping tabs on Thomas and popping in to support the many fibs and fables necessary in a day kept him more than occupied. But when the day grew long, and Thomas was settled into some evening show or project, Deceit was left to fill his own space. The room was undeniably quieter without Roman, in a way that, somehow, made it _harder_ to concentrate. It was possibly why Deceit felt the urge to fill it himself now.

Taking the last clamp and fastening it to the edge of his desk, Deceit took a step back to appreciate his work. A pattern of tiny silver snakes, framing each corner of the box, had been his final touch. Something to mark the project as his own. Satisfied, he hummed the chorus for the umpteenth time.

“How nice to hear you in high spirits, Deceit. Are we having a good day then?”

Deceit wasn’t sure if sides could experience heart attacks, but he sincerely wished everyone would stop testing the possibility.

Extracting himself from his chair, now half-toppled over his legs, Deceit swivelled towards the sound. At the far end of his room, the wardrobe stood unassumingly by the foot of his bed. It’s door however, was slightly ajar, and from its depths slid out a distinctly icy voice.

“I take it the sides have been treating you well. Seeing as you still have a tongue to sing with.”

Deceit cursed under his breath. He swore he’d closed the wardrobe properly. It must have slipped when he wasn’t paying attention. He rounded on the overbearing furniture, glaring. “What is it? What do you want?” he hissed.

“If I were them, I would have ensured the tongue was first to go,” said the voice in a clipped, fastidious tone. “Pretty liars are no threat when they’re just pretty.”

“Your advice is appreciated, as always. How long have you been listening?”

“Was I not supposed to? How careless of you to leave the door open.”

Deceit crossed his arms, then realized the gesture would be lost, so took to tapping his foot instead.

“A while. Long enough to get an earful of your playtime with the prince,” chided the voice. “Have you grown fond of the boy? You barely lie to him at all.”

Deceit grimaced. The way he referred to other sides as _boy_ always irritated him. As if they weren’t precisely the same age. “Clearly, you haven’t been listening that closely. I lie to him constantly.”

“That, or you’re losing your edge, Deceit. The boy’s been hanging off you like a love-sick puppy. I can understand why. You’re very sweet to him, counselling him through his woes and worries. Your new body must have _very_ soft shoulders.”

Deceit breathed deeply through his nose. “I believe you’re mistaking caution for _care_ . Would you rather I humiliate him? Crush him into compliance like you did with Virgil? Because we all know how well _that_ worked out.”

“Let’s not throw stones,” scolded the voice. “I seem to recall your gaslighting being a key contributor.”

“That wasn’t gaslighting.”

“If you say so.”

 _“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?_ ” snarled Deceit.

“I think you’re wasting time,” came the whip-crack retort. “You’re not here to make art projects and gossip, Deceit. Pain wants to know what’s taking you so long.”

Deceit sneered, ripping off his hat and crushing the rim between his fingers. “I didn’t realize I was on a schedule _, sir.”_

An indignant noise rumbled from the wardrobe. The side knew Deceit only used the preferred honorific when he was being impudent.

“Your gross lack of respect will be your downfall, boy.”

“Don’t use your discipline on me, Shame. It doesn’t work.” Deceit tossed the hat onto his bed, where it bounced once and rolled to the floor. “I’ve already opened a door in the kitchen. What’s he getting so huffed about?”

“Yes, I’m aware,” intoned the voice. “I’ve been using it to visit the father quite frequently. But it’s not enough. We need to reach them where they’ll be alone.”

Deceit turned away, feeling his heat rising and needing a distraction. His plants on the sill were looking dry, so he manifested a cup of water. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly free to roam the household. Willing the fridge open was only possible when the sides were busy with their little _exorcism_ attempt.”

“You’re a slippery one. Find a way out.”

“It’s four wills against one,” Deceit argued. “I can’t overpower them here. And what’s more, Virgil’s been keeping annoyingly close vigilance.”

The stiff wardrobe made no indication of being impressed. “Do what it takes. But do it fast. Pain doesn’t like waiting.” There was a pause before he added in a slow, severe tone, “you know how he gets when he’s angry.”

Deceit bit down, watching the soil soak up with water. “He’s always angry.”

“Yes, but best he not be angry in your direction.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” said Deceit.

No response came.

“Did you hear me?” Deceit growled, turning back to Shame. “ _I’m not_ \--” and Deceit realized he was once again addressing a simple wardrobe. He looked back to the fern, and hurriedly lifted the cup. Water poured over the sides, dribbling down the sill and into the cracks of the hardwood floor.

  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll figure out how to write chapters that aren't blocks of exposition followed by pages of endless dialogue, but today is not that day. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> After watching the bloopers reel and seeing how jumpy Deceit was when the light switched off, I am now working with the firm belief that he is the most easily spookable side.
> 
> Also yay, finally introducing some of the Dark sides! More to come for them. Again, sorry for the slow updates, I promise I'm still working away at this between my two new jobs ackkkkkk! But yes, thanks for your comments, I love and appreciate them! <3


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